


waiting for the day

by sundays



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Abuse, Prostitution, Recovery, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2019-12-18 13:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 41,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18250478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundays/pseuds/sundays
Summary: Mark's a prostitute, Eduardo's a student, and Mark should really be wearing more than a hoodie and flip-flops in the middle of winter, shouldn't he?





	1. condoms and red bull

Eduardo meets Mark at a 24-hour supermarket.

It's just past 1 AM, and Eduardo is in line to buy a gallon of milk. Because, well, he has an economics exam tomorrow, he's been studying for hours, and walking to the supermarket in the middle of the night in 20-degree weather had seemed like a good way to blow off some steam.

"That'll be $10.53," the cashier is saying to the guy in front of him— a curly-haired guy in a faded GAP hoodie. The guy nods, and hands the cashier some money.

"This is ten dollars, sir," she says. "Your total is—"

"I have the rest," snaps the guy. "Just— just give me a minute."

The lady drums her nails on the register as the guy begins fishing in his pockets. He pulls out a few coins and slams them down on the counter.

"That's 45 cents, sir—"

"I _know_ ," says the guy. "I'm not an imbecile. Hold on." He unzips his backpack, which looks like it's seen better days, and reaches inside. He rummages for a long time. "Shit," he mutters finally, and with a few angry jerks, he zips the backpack closed. "Shit."

The guy doesn't have the money. Eduardo fidgets, gripping his jug of milk.

"Alright, which one do you want then," the cashier asks, sounding bored. "The condoms or the Red Bull?"

The guy just glares at her. For a while no one speaks.

Then:

"I have five dollars, if—" 

The words leave Eduardo's mouth before he even really knows what he's saying. He falters a bit when the cashier and the guy both snap their heads around to stare at him. "Sorry," he says, embarrassed. "I just— well, if you want it..." He opens his wallet and thumbs through his cash till he finds a five-dollar bill, which he places on the counter. "Here you go, that's, um. Five dollars."

The guy blinks at him once, and opens his mouth like he's going to say something. Then he closes it again, and wheels around to face the cashier. "There," he says. "Happy?"

The cashier just rolls her eyes, takes the money, and completes the transaction.

Wordlessly, the guy takes his change— Eduardo's change, really— and shoves his purchases into his backpack.

He leaves without looking back.

***

But when Eduardo exits the store, the guy's standing outside, waiting for him.

"Hey," says Eduardo.

"Hey." 

They stare at each other for a moment.

"Thanks," says the guy, not quite meeting Eduardo's eye. It seems to stick in his throat a bit, like maybe it's a word he doesn't say very often. 

"You're welcome," says Eduardo, smiling. He holds out a hand. "Eduardo."

"Mark," says the guy, reaching into his hoodie pocket. He pulls out some ones and a handful of coins, and presses the money into Eduardo's outstretched hand. "That's $4.92."

"Oh," says Eduardo. His change. He nods. "Thank you."

Mark says nothing, just shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs.

The guy must be freezing, Eduardo thinks, dressed in nothing but a hoodie, jeans, and flip-flops. Fucking _flip-flops_. He wonders, vaguely, where he's headed with condoms and Red Bull at one o'clock in the morning. "Everything alright?" he asks, frowning, before he can help himself.

Genuine confusion flickers in Mark's face. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know," says Eduardo. "I don't know, I just." He laughs a little; he's not sure why. "Look, I gotta be heading home soon. Econ test tomorrow, you know, and I— I gotta study."

"Okay," says Mark, with a shrug.

"Have a good night," Eduardo offers. "I'm— I'm going this way," he adds, pointing.

"Okay," Mark repeats.

Eduardo stands there a moment, waiting to see if he'll say anything else. 

He doesn't.

So Eduardo smiles, lifts his grocery bag in a kind of goodbye gesture, and begins to head toward home.

He glances back before he rounds the corner, and Mark is still standing there in front of the supermarket, hands in his pockets, staring into the distance.

It's almost like he's waiting for something.

And who knows, thinks Eduardo. Maybe he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, more to come. comments are always appreciated!


	2. forty dollars

Three weeks later, Eduardo meets Mark again.

He's walking home from the library, and it's late, maybe 3 AM. The streets are deserted. It's freezing outside— Eduardo's got gloves and a hat and a scarf and a coat and he's _still_ shivering. He's from Miami, after all; he wasn't built to withstand Massachusetts winters. But he's just a couple blocks from home, he tells himself, just a couple blocks away from his heater and his bed. So he trudges on through the patches of snow on the sidewalk.

Then he turns a corner, and stops.

There, a few paces away, is a guy leaning against a streetlamp, staring at him. Curly hair, GAP hoodie, flip-flops.

"Hi," says Eduardo, gaping. "You're— I don't know if you remember—"

"Of course I remember," says Mark. "You bought me condoms. I'm sure you'll be be glad to know that I've been putting them to good use. It's Eduardo, right?" 

"Yeah, I— Yeah. Eduardo." Eduardo nods, shivering. "Aren't you _cold_?" he asks, taking a step closer.

"I'm fine," Mark says with a shrug. He squints at Eduardo for a moment, then asks, quite casually, "Do you want a blowjob?"

Eduardo's eyes widen. "I'm sorry?" he asks. He can feel himself blushing.

"I said do you want a blowjob," Mark repeats, like it's nothing.

"From... you?" It's a stupid question— Eduardo feels stupid the moment the words leave his mouth, and the look that Mark gives him makes him feel even stupider.

"No, from the _other_ hooker standing in front of you."

There's a beat. Eduardo isn't sure what to say. For some reason it hadn't crossed his mind that—

"What, you thought I was offering to suck your dick for free?" And Mark laughs, a cold little laugh. "That's funny." Then he pushes off from the lamppost and says, "Forty bucks. I'm sure you can afford that, right? Your coat alone looks like it cost at least three hundred."

Eduardo swallows. "No," he says. It comes out like a squeak. He tries again. "No. I— I'm sorry. I don't— do that. I couldn't." Mark just stares at him, his expression unreadable in the glow of the streetlamp. "I'm sorry," Eduardo repeats, after a moment. "I— It was nice seeing you again though." He gives a small smile, and turns to walk away. 

He's gone about three paces before Mark falls into step beside him.

"You're not fooling me with the chivalry thing," Mark says brusquely. "I know you want to fuck me; I'm not an idiot; I can see it on your face. And I'm pretty sure that money isn't the problem. So you must have reservations about the practice of prostitution itself."

Eduardo says nothing, which Mark apparently takes as an affirmative. 

"You shouldn't," he goes on. "It's a simple business transaction. You pay me and I perform a service, we're both consenting adults, there's nothing to feel bad about." He's talking very fast. "Now I'll ask again," he says. "Do you want a blowjob, yes or no?"

Eduardo stops walking, and Mark stops too.

"If I say no," Eduardo says slowly, "are you going to keep standing out here until someone says yes?"

Mark seems to think about his answer for a moment. "Maybe," he says at last. It sounds almost like a challenge.

"It's like thirty degrees," Eduardo says, a bit helplessly. "You're in flip-flops, for fuck's sake, with—"

"Is that a no?"

"No, it's—" Eduardo exhales shortly. Then he pulls out his wallet, flips it open, and withdraws two twenty-dollar bills. "Here," he says, holding them out to Mark. "Go home, okay? Don't get fucking frostbite."

But Mark doesn't take the money, just stares evenly up at Eduardo, who frowns, a new thought suddenly occurring to him. "You... do have somewhere to go, right?"

"I'm not homeless," Mark says acerbically. 

It isn't quite an answer. Which is probably as close as Mark will come to saying no.

So Eduardo sighs, and stuffs the $40 back into his wallet, and asks, softly, "Do you want to come back to my apartment with me?"

Mark lifts his eyebrows.

"No blowjobs," Eduardo adds. "Just. You know, you can sleep on my couch or something."

Mark looks away, and seconds pass, and Eduardo is sure that he's going to refuse. 

But then he says sure, fine.

Eduardo blinks. "Really?" he says, his voice carried on a steamy puff of breath. "I— Okay, my apartment's just— it's less than a minute away; we're almost there."

Mark just nods, and they set off, Eduardo walking briskly through the February chill and Mark following a few paces behind.

"Thanks," says Mark, as they reach the tall brick building and Eduardo takes out his key.

Eduardo is struck, yet again, by the feeling that Mark is uncomfortable with the word. "No problem," he says, unlocking the door.

And together, they step into the warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment or leave a kudos if you're reading bc idk if anyone's even in this fandom anymore lol


	3. spaghetti

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mark's 19 btw, and eduardo's 20

"Well," says Eduardo as they enter his apartment. He flips on the lights, then turns up the heater. "Here we are."

Mark just stands in the entryway, as if waiting for permission to go any further.

"Come on," says Eduardo. "Make yourself at home. Sit down, you know, put up your feet or whatever." He gestures toward the couch.

Mark shuffles over and sets down his backpack, then takes a seat stiffly on the sofa, his back oddly straight. Immediately, his eyes fall on Eduardo's laptop where it sits on the coffee table, charging. He stares at it like it's something sacred.

"Do you need to use the computer?" asks Eduardo, turning on a lamp. 

"Could I?"

"Yeah, go for it," Eduardo says easily. He doesn't mind.

Mark moves the laptop to his legs and opens it almost reverently.

He glides his fingers over the keyboard, across the trackpad, and clicks a few times. Then, suddenly, he's typing, fingers flying over the keys and expression intently focused.

Eduardo watches for a moment, somewhat taken aback. "Are you writing?" he asks, eventually.

"What?" Mark doesn't look up.

"I just asked if you're, like, writing something, or what— what you're doing."

"I'm coding," is Mark's reply.

"Oh," says Eduardo. "Cool. I'm not— I've never taken computer science or anything so... that's really cool though."

Mark says nothing.

"I've always kind of wanted to, actually," Eduardo goes on. "You know, learn CS. But I don't know, I'm an econ major, and there's a lot of classes I have to take for that, so..." He trails off, pretty sure Mark isn't listening.

But then Mark asks, "Why econ?"

"Oh, uh. I don't know. I'm good at it, I guess." Eduardo shrugs. _Because my father would disown me if I studied anything else_ , he doesn't say.

"Where do you go?" asks Mark. "To college."

"Harvard," says Eduardo, pressing his lips together. It's always strange, to see how that one word changes what people think of him, for better or for worse.

But Mark doesn't have much reaction. "So you're smart," is all he says, eyes still trained on the screen. "That's good. I can't stand stupid people."

Eduardo's not sure if he's joking. He laughs anyway. "What about you?" he asks then. "Are you in college, or…?"

"No," says Mark, and that's the end of that.

A few moments pass in silence.

"Can I sit?" says Eduardo at last, nodding at the couch.

"It's your house."

So Eduardo takes a seat, a foot or so away from Mark. He glances at the computer screen, the lines of code that mean nothing to him, before his eyes wander to Mark's face, to the perfect curve of his lips, pursed slightly in concentration.

"It's a nice place," Mark says, without looking up, and Eduardo blinks.

"Huh?"

"Your apartment," says Mark. "It's nice." 

"Oh," Eduardo mumbles. "Thanks." It _is_ nice, he knows: it's a huge apartment for just one guy, and it's clean, and well-furnished.

"Rich parents?" Mark says. It doesn't sound like a question.

"Rich... self, actually, kind of," says Eduardo.

And Mark looks up at that, obviously intrigued. 

"I, uh, I made a lot of money last summer betting on oil futures in Brazil," Eduardo explains.

"Based on what, the weather?"

"Pretty much," says Eduardo, a bit surprised. "I like meteorology."

Something in Mark's face shifts. "Fascinating," he says. It sounds sincere. "How much?"

"How much what?"

"How much money did you make."

"Oh." Eduardo hesitates. It feels wrong, somehow, to talk about the 300 thousand dollars he's got in the bank to a guy who just offered to suck him off for forty. A guy who couldn't afford $10.53 for groceries. "Thousands," he says at last, evasively. "And— and my parents _are_ well-off too," he adds. "They helped. Help."

"I thought so," says Mark, turning back to his coding. He sounds almost— contemptuous. Like he's no longer impressed. 

It stings a little.

But then Mark clears his throat. "You know only 2.5% of children in foster care go on to graduate from a four-year university?" he asks, typing feverishly.

Eduardo frowns. "No, I didn't know that," he says. "That's... that's a sobering statistic."

"It is," says Mark.

"Were you—"

"In foster care? Yes, for six years." Mark's fingers falter for a moment on the keyboard. "It was hell."

He doesn't look up, doesn't seem to really expect a response, but Eduardo is pretty sure he should say _something_ , something sympathetic or encouraging or—

"You look constipated," says Mark, glancing at him momentarily before turning back to the computer.

Eduardo laughs weakly. "Sorry."

"Sorry for looking constipated or sorry I was in foster care?"

"I— both, I guess."

Mark says nothing.

"Listen, I'm starving," Eduardo offers, more to change the subject than because he's actually hungry. "I'm gonna go heat up some leftovers or something."

Mark nods, without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Uh. You want anything?" Eduardo asks.

"No," says Mark. "Not hungry."

But a few minutes later, when Eduardo sits back down on the couch with a plate of reheated spaghetti, Mark looks up from the computer— looks up and gazes at the food with such palpable longing that it makes Eduardo's chest tighten.

He sets the plate down on the coffee table. "Mark," he says gently. "Listen, I've got this and Chinese food. Which one do you want?"

Mark's still staring at the spaghetti, eyes blazing, cheekbones dusted pink with shame. "Either," he says, sounding almost petulant.

"Okay, well, why don't you have the spaghetti?" says Eduardo. "I'll make myself the Chinese."

He tries to catch Mark's eye, tries to smile, to let him know it's okay to be hungry or whatever.

But Mark doesn't look over. Instead, he closes the laptop and sets it aside. Then, with trembling hands, he picks up the plate of spaghetti and begins to eat with such quiet desperation that it feels wrong to watch.

So Eduardo doesn't watch, just stands up and goes to the kitchen to heat his lo mein.

***

By the time he gets back to the living room, Mark's plate is clean.

Eduardo sits down beside him and stabs at some rice. "I'll get you a blanket for tonight," he says. "And some socks if you want."

Mark nods. He's staring straight ahead, arms crossed over his stomach, his empty plate sitting in front of him on the coffee table.

"I have a 10 AM class tomorrow," Eduardo goes on. "Or—" He glances at his watch; it's 4:15. "—today, I guess. So anyway, I'll probably be up by like 9."

"That's fine," says Mark.

Eduardo takes another bite. "Did, uh. Did you finish coding?"

"No." Mark shrugs. "But it's fine." He looks at Eduardo then, cheeks still flushed, lips parted. 

And for a moment, Eduardo imagines Mark down on his knees, those stupidly beautiful lips around Eduardo's cock, Eduardo's fingers raking through his curls—

"Thanks," says Mark suddenly, staring at him. "For letting me use the computer. And for the food."

Eduardo nearly chokes on his noodles. He waves a hand dismissively, swallows hard. "Don't worry about it," he says. He sets his plate on top of Mark's, no longer hungry.

Mark doesn't look away. His eyes rove over Eduardo's face, searching. Then, slowly, he scoots closer, and settles a pale hand on Eduardo's thigh. He leans in, and his lips, cold and perfect, press against Eduardo's.

And Eduardo lets him kiss him. Lets him, and lets him, and then jerks away.

"Wait, stop—" he manages.

Mark pulls back. His hand is on Eduardo's crotch now. "What's wrong?"

"You don't— you don't have to—" stammers Eduardo. He wipes his mouth. "Mark, you don't have to fuck me just because I gave you some fucking spaghetti, okay?"

Mark blinks, and withdraws his hand. He says nothing.

"Let— let me get you a blanket," Eduardo mutters, looking away, standing up.

He makes his way to the bedroom. His cheeks feel hot, his heart is pounding, and his thigh is tingling where Mark touched it.

He digs through his closet till he finds the warmest blanket he owns, then opens the drawer where he keeps his socks. He chooses a particularly thick woolen pair, and heads back to the living room.

"Here," he says, draping the blanket over the back of the couch and handing Mark the socks. "Go to sleep. Feel free to use the bathroom or whatever. I'll be in my room."

Mark just sits there, clutching the socks. He looks— young. Young and scared.

"I'm not angry," Eduardo tells him. "Okay? I'm not mad."

Mark nods slowly. And then, inexplicably, fiercely: "I got a 1600 on my SAT," he says.

"I—" Eduardo frowns. "Really? A perfect score?"

"Yes," Mark says. His eyes are hard.

Eduardo's not sure how to respond. "That's really good," he says.

"I know," says Mark. "I'm not stupid. I'm probably smarter than you."

Which is— okay, arrogant, but whatever. "You probably are," Eduardo says, because it seems like what Mark needs to hear, and he's tired, and hey, maybe it's true. "Goodnight, Mark."

Mark doesn't answer, and Eduardo goes to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, kudos and comments are much appreciated and keep me going!!!! especially since the fandom is so small how haha


	4. cheerios

Eduardo wakes up to the beeping of his alarm and promptly presses snooze. He lies there in bed for a few moments, eyes closed, blankets pulled up against the cold of the morning, ready to drift back to sleep. And then he remembers— _Mark_.

In a few moments he's out of bed and grabbing his bathrobe. He wonders if Mark will even be there still— it wouldn't surprise him to find that he'd slipped away at dawn or something. He runs a hand through his hair, hoping he looks somewhat presentable, and steps out of the bedroom.

And there's Mark, seated on the couch, wrapped snugly in Eduardo's blanket. He's got Eduardo's laptop balanced on his knees, and he's typing away.

"Morning," says Eduardo. 

Mark glances up. "Good morning," he says, before refocusing his attention on the computer. "I'm just finishing up what I was working on last night, and then I'll email it to myself."

"Yeah, no problem," Eduardo tells him. He stands in the doorway for a few moments, watching as Mark types. He looks small, nestled in the blanket, and his hair is endearingly tousled.

"Did you sleep well?" asks Eduardo.

"Yes," Mark answers without looking up.

"Stay warm enough?"

"Yes."

"Want any cereal or anything?"

"No."

"Great," says Eduardo, stifling a yawn. "I'm making you some anyway."

Mark rolls his eyes, but doesn't try to argue, so Eduardo heads to the kitchen and takes out two bowls.

***

They eat their Cheerios at the dining table.

"Did you finish your coding and stuff?" asks Eduardo.

Mark nods, and takes a bite of cereal. Eduardo tries not to watch the way a bit of milk clings to his upper lip, tries not to think about Mark kissing him last night.

"Do you have a computer?" he asks, clearing his throat.

"I did; it broke a month ago," says Mark. He stabs at the milk with his spoon, and there's a note of real regret in his voice that makes Eduardo frown. 

"You can't take it somewhere to get it repaired?" he suggests.

Mark gives a little snort. "It was smashed against a counter multiple times in succession," he says. "I think it's beyond repair."

"Oh. It wasn't— were you the one who smashed it, or...?"

"I was not."

Eduardo bites his lip, unsure what to do with the information that there's someone in Mark's life who would break his computer like that.

Mark seems to sense his discomfort. "I'll get a new one," he says, "once I save enough money."

Eduardo nods. And then, unable to help himself: "Listen, speaking of money, what's your rate?" he asks.

Mark glances over at him. "Depends," he says, eyes narrowed.

"Okay, well. What is it for me? For staying overnight?"

"Zero dollars," says Mark tersely. "Seeing as we didn't have sex."

"Yeah, but— I mean, I kept you from working or whatever; I feel like... like I should pay you _something_ , at least," Eduardo tries. He'd thought about this for a long time last night before falling asleep, only he'd imagined the conversation going more smoothly, Mark being more grateful.

"I told you, prostitution is a business transaction," says Mark, staring into his bowl. "I get paid to provide a service. Last night I didn't provide you with anything; I ate your food and slept on your couch. If anything, I owe _you_ money." He says it all without looking up or pausing for breath, then shoves a spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth.

"You won't get in trouble? You don't have, like, a pimp or something?" Eduardo asks cautiously.

Mark noticeably stiffens at the question, but all he says, once he's swallowed, is, "No. I don't have a pimp."

Eduardo nods, not quite sure he believes him, and they eat the rest of their cereal in silence.

"I have to get going," says Mark at last, abruptly.

Eduardo wants to protest, but the truth is that he has to leave soon too, if he wants to be on time for Microeconomics. "Okay," he says instead. "Just how about— Here, let me give you my cell number. And if you change your mind about the money, or— or ever need anything, feel free to call me, or text me, or…" He trails off.

"I won't," says Mark. They stare at each other for a moment. Then Mark sighs, and pulls out a flip phone.

"Fine," he says. "What's the number?"

***

They part ways outside the apartment building, Eduardo heading to campus and Mark heading God knows where: Eduardo doesn't ask, and Mark doesn't tell, and that's that.

***

A week passes.

Eduardo attends classes and completes problem sets and ignores his father's phone calls. Mark doesn't text, but Eduardo hadn't really expected him to, had he? (Maybe.) He wonders, vaguely, if he'll ever see him again.

And then, one day, he does.

It's Friday afternoon, and Eduardo's done with class. He decides to stop by a coffee shop on the way home, and he's standing in line when he notices someone sitting at one of the tables with their head in their arms. It's the hair he recognizes first: curly, reddish brown— Mark's hair. Then he sees the flip-flops.

He slips out of line and approaches the table. "Mark," he says brightly.

Mark lifts his face. "Eduardo."

His entire left cheek is mottled purple and yellow, and his eye is black and swollen.

"Jesus Christ," breathes Eduardo, "what _happened_?"

Mark lifts a hand to his cheek, seemingly subconsciously. "I was punched in the face," he says bluntly. "Is it not obvious?"

"Jesus Christ," Eduardo repeats.

But Mark seems almost amused. "Eduardo, it was days ago," he says. "I'm fine. Okay? Totally fine."

Eduardo sits down across from him, leans forward. "Who did it?" he asks. He lowers his voice. "Was it a client?"

"Does it matter?" Mark asks. He pushes up the sleeve of his hoodie— the same ratty GAP one as before— and checks his watch. "I have to go," he says then, standing up. "I've got work."

"Wait, just— let me buy you a muffin or something," says Eduardo.

"I can't. I have an appointment," says Mark. "I'll be late."

"An appointment for—"

"To get fucked, yes," says Mark, probably louder than strictly necessary. He stands up and adds, "See you, Wardo." Then he pats the back of Eduardo's chair and leaves without a backward glance.

Eduardo stares after him for a long time. Then he gets up and buys a cheese danish. He thinks of Mark as he eats it: his fingers flying on the keyboard, his hand on Eduardo's thigh, his messy curls, his soft lips, his perfect score on the SAT.

 _Wardo_ , he'd said. _See you, Wardo_ , like Eduardo was his friend.

Eduardo takes his final bite of danish, and smiles at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! comment to make my life and keep me motivated; i cannot begin to describe how much comments mean to me <3


	5. twenty-one

It's Eduardo's 21st birthday, and he's spending it alone. 

More specifically, he's spending it at his desk, his computer open in front of him and a textbook open on his lap, studying for his microeconomics midterm. 

Which is probably really pathetic, but Eduardo doesn't care. He's glad, honestly, that he doesn't have friends to take him out partying or something, because school is important, and this professor is notorious for giving impossible midterms, and—

Well, that's what he keeps telling himself, anyway.

***

He's just starting his second practice exam when his cell phone rings.

It's his father, probably calling because it's his birthday, he figures. (Or hopes, or something.)

So he answers.

"Eduardo," says his father.

"Dad."

"Finally decided to pick up, I see."

"Yes," Eduardo whispers.

"Good," his father says.

And then begins the lecture.

The call lasts thirty minutes, and by the end, Eduardo is crying. Not loud enough for his father to hear, of course, but there are tears on his cheeks and a lump in his throat and— and he wipes impatiently at his face. He's 21 years old, for Christ's sake. He shouldn't be fucking _crying_ about this.

"We'll speak again next week," his father tells him. "No more ignoring my calls."

Eduardo squeezes his eyes shut. "Yes, Dad," he says tightly.

"I expect that you'll at least have an internship by then," his father goes on.

"Okay," Eduardo replies, his voice small. His father doesn't respond. Eduardo clears his throat, and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "Dad?" he asks. "Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"Dad," says Eduardo. "It's my birthday."

There's a moment of silence. Then the line goes dead.

***

It's 11 PM, 36 degrees, and Eduardo is on his way to the nearest bar. Because fuck his midterm, and fuck his birthday, and most of all, fuck his father.

He stops for a minute and sniffs, blinking away tears. Then he continues walking, staring at the ground, not letting himself think about anything except how fucking drunk he's about to get.

He's freezing by the time he reaches the bar. Freezing and furious— at himself, at his father, at everything. 

And then he hears his name.

He stops short, looks up, and there, right outside the bar, leaning against the wall, is Mark. He's smiling.

"Wardo," he says again.

"Hey," says Eduardo, breathlessly. Mark's face, pink in the light of the bar's neon sign, is healed, and he's wearing actual tennis shoes tonight.

"It's been a while," says Mark. He pauses. Then: "Are you crying?" There's no judgment in his voice, not even any real interest. It's just a question.

"No," says Eduardo. He rubs his eyes with his gloves. "I mean— I mean yeah. I don't know. It's stupid."

Mark shrugs. "It's probably not," he says.

And suddenly Eduardo doesn't want a drink: he wants Mark. He wants to tell Mark everything, and he wants Mark to tell him it's alright. He wants a friend. It's been so _long_ since he had a friend. 

"Come home with me," he says. "Mark, please. I need to be with someone tonight." He knows he sounds desperate, but screw it. He _is_ desperate.

"You gonna fuck me this time?" Mark asks flatly.

"No," says Eduardo. "No, that's not—"

Mark shakes his head. "Then I can't," he says with a sigh. "I need to make money tonight."

"How much?" asks Eduardo. "I'll pay you."

"I told you last time," Mark says tiredly. "I'm not letting you pay me for—"

"No, listen," Eduardo interrupts, "I have a midterm tomorrow. Microeconomics. You can help me study, and I'll pay you for _that_. However much you want, I'll pay."

Mark looks unimpressed. "What makes you think I know anything about microeconomics?"

"Doesn't matter," says Eduardo. "You can just read me the practice questions in my textbook and quiz me on vocab and stuff. _Please_."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" Eduardo snaps, louder than he'd intended. 

"Really? Because you don't seem fine. You seem kind of... unhinged."

"I'm _fine_ ," Eduardo repeats, working to keep his voice level. "I swear. I'm just— just—" He closes his eyes. "Look," he says then, "either you come help me study or I walk into this bar and drink until I get fucking alcohol poisoning."

"Is that, like, a threat?"

It's so fucking cold, and Eduardo is so fucking tired. "No," he says. "It's the truth."

For a while, Mark just stares at him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, shivering. Then, at last, he sighs. "Three hundred dollars," he says, pushing off from the wall.

"Deal," says Eduardo. He stands there, breathing heavily, too many emotions swirling in his chest. "Thank you," he adds after a moment.

Mark just shrugs, and together, they set off toward the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this chapter is short — more to come soon! please leave a comment to let me know what you think!!!!


	6. nash equilibria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you don't actually have to read the economics parts; they're irrelevant to the plot lmao

Neither of them speak as they walk, and Eduardo finds his mind filling the silence with his father's voice, with angry Portuguese words that make his eyes sting.

They're almost to his apartment building when he finds he can't take it anymore, when stops and turns and says, "Mark."

Mark stops too, and looks at him strangely, questioningly, the glow of a nearby streetlamp washing over his face.

For a moment, Eduardo wants to kiss him.

"What?" says Mark.

Eduardo shakes his head. "Nothing," he mutters. "I don't know."

They start walking again, till at last they reach his apartment building. They take the elevator up to his floor and walk down the hallway to his apartment.

Eduardo has his key in the door when Mark asks, suddenly, "Eduardo, do you have friends?"

"What?" Eduardo's stomach twists. "Yeah, of— of course I have friends," he says, because that's easier than the truth.

Mark shrugs disinterestedly. "Okay," he says. "Well. I don't."

Eduardo's not sure how to respond to that, so he opens the door, and steps into his apartment.

Mark follows.

***

They sit at Eduardo's dining table. 

"The midterm is on the first three units," says Eduardo, opening a notebook and pushing his textbook toward Mark. "There's a practice test at the end of each unit; I've already done the first one but if you want to start quizzing me with questions from the second one, that'd be good. And there are answers in the back."

Mark nods, flipping through the pages with slightly more interest than Eduardo thinks they warrant. He comes to a stop at the end of Unit 2. "Are you ready?" he asks.

Eduardo nods.

"Okay," says Mark, and he reads the first question, something about the IRS and a taxpayer's choice about whether or not to be truthful on their tax return. He's supposed to find the Nash equilibria of the game.

Eduardo starts writing, _Let q = the probability that the taxpayer tells the truth (T)_ and _Let p = the probability that the government audits (A)._ Then _2p + 3(1 - p)..._

"I only know how to calculate the pure strategy equilibria," says Mark slowly. "But that doesn't exist here, does it?"

Eduardo looks up from his notebook. "What?"

"I said I only know how to calculate—"

"No, I heard that, I just... you told me you didn't know anything about microeconomics."

Mark shrugs. "I asked what made you _think_ I knew anything about microeconomics. I never said I _didn't_ know anything. I do know some basic principles; I've read about it before."

"Jesus Christ," says Eduardo. "What, you taught yourself microeconomics for the heck of it?"

Mark shrugs again. "I told you, I've just read about it."

"Jesus," says Eduardo. "Mark, why aren't you in college?"

"Because I'm not," Mark says.

"How old are you?"

"I'm nineteen. Stop stalling. Finish the problem."

"I'm not stalling," says Eduardo. "But seriously, you should—"

"Eduardo," snaps Mark. "Just drop it, okay?" His brow is furrowed, but he doesn't look angry, not really. Just sad.

So Eduardo clears his throat. "Sorry," he says. "I'm sorry, Mark. I didn't mean to..." He trails off, turns back to his math. "Anyway, uh, yeah, you're right, there aren't any pure strategy equilibria here. Just a mixed strategy equilibrium. I could show you how to calculate it," he adds, scooting his chair a bit closer to Mark's and angling his notebook so it's positioned between them, "if you want."

Mark nods. "Okay," he says, and he watches, frowning, as Eduardo solves the problem.

***

"Do you want to take a break?" asks Mark, as Eduardo yawns for about the fortieth time. "It's 3 AM."

They've finished the Unit 2 test and are halfway done with Unit 3.

"No," says Eduardo. "Keep going."

"Okay," says Mark with a shrug. "True or false, when market demand and supply shift in opposite directions, we can unambiguously say how the equilibrium price and quantity change."

"False," says Eduardo, yawning again. "The… the effect on equilibrium quantity is ambiguous."

"Correct. Okay, a consumer has selected an optimal bundle of two goods that includes some of each good. The price of one good increases. True or false: The consumer's utility is lower after the price increase compared to before it."

"True."

"Good. Next one— a consumer finds two goods to be perfectly substitutable. True or false: The optimal bundle for this consumer will always be a corner solution."

Eduardo puts his forehead down on the table. He knows the answer, it's false, but—

"Wardo?"

"Hmm?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," says Eduardo. Then he lifts his head. "My father thinks I'm a disappointment."

"Why?" asks Mark.

 _Why_. Such a simple question. As though anything related to Eduardo's father is ever simple.

"I don't know," Eduardo says, with a weak sort of laugh. "I guess because I'm 21 and I'm not already CFO of a Fortune 500 company?"

Mark scoffs. "Just tell him to wait a few years and it's practically a given that you'll be CFO of _something_. You study economics at Harvard, for God's sake, and you've got money, and probably connections. You check all the boxes for future success."

"My dad doesn't care about checking the boxes. He wants results, you know? And he doesn't like being told to wait."

"Of course not, he's a rich, entitled asshole. Tell him to go fuck himself."

Eduardo buries his face in his hands and sighs. "It's not that easy," he says miserably. "He's my dad." It comes out muffled.

Mark doesn't reply.

"He called me tonight," Eduardo says, speaking into his fingers. "Lectured me about what a piece of shit I am, that even with him putting my name in, I can't manage to get a summer internship."

"It's only March," Mark says. There's a pause. "He called you a piece of shit?"

"Internship spots fill up early," mumbles Eduardo. "The competitive ones, anyway. And yes, he did. In Portuguese, but yeah."

Mark closes the textbook. "Eduardo," he says. "I don't know much about good parents, but I know about shitty ones, and your dad sounds like he's a very shitty father."

Eduardo doesn't answer, can't answer, but he lowers his hands. "It's my birthday," he says. His throat feels weird. "He didn't even mention it."

Mark just looks at him, his expression somehow unsettling, like he's seeing more than Eduardo wants him to. "Happy birthday," he says at last.

Eduardo swallows. "Thanks."

Mark doesn't reply, but he reaches out, tentatively, and touches Eduardo's hair, ghosts his fingers down Eduardo's cheek, onto his shoulder. Then he shifts slightly, leans in a bit, almost questioningly.

"Mark," says Eduardo, and Mark goes still.

"What?"

"Don't do that. Stop doing that."

Mark's fingers drift down Eduardo's arm, come to rest on his hand. "Why?" he says bluntly. "You're paying me."

Eduardo slides his hand out from under Mark's and crosses his arms. "I'm paying you to help me study," he says.

"Are you though?"

" _Yes_."

Mark lifts his eyebrows. "You don't even need to study," he says. "You know this stuff cold. You're paying me because you're sad and you think I'm pretty and you want to fuck." His tone isn't flirtatious, or coy, just businesslike, like it's the truth and they both know it.

But it _isn't_ the truth. Because yeah, maybe Eduardo is sad and maybe he thinks Mark is pretty and maybe he spends an inordinate of time remembering their lips pressed together and Mark's hand on his crotch, but that's not why Eduardo wanted him here tonight. "Mark, I'm paying you because in all honesty I have no friends," he says. "And I needed one tonight." He looks away. 

There's a moment of silence, and Eduardo half expects Mark to have some practiced retort about how it's not his job to be anyone's friend.

But then Mark says, "Wardo," and Eduardo looks up, and Mark's eyes are soft, like he understands.

They stare at each other for a moment, until Eduardo yawns. Mark laughs at that, and says, "You know, all-nighters are scientifically proven to reduce cognitive function. You should really take a nap."

Eduardo's too exhausted to argue. 

"I'll wake you up in an hour," says Mark.

So Eduardo rests his head in his arms, right there at the table. He doesn't think about his father, or internships, or his midterm, or anything except the sound of Mark's breathing in the chair beside him. And soon enough, he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you sm for reading! please drop a comment and let me know your thoughts!!!


	7. sean

Eduardo wakes up to the sound of someone talking— Mark talking.

"Sean, I fucking can't," he's saying. "I told you, he wants me all night." There's a pause. "Yes, he's good for it; I'm not an idiot." 

Eduardo lifts his head from the table and looks around blearily. 

"Fuck you, Sean, you said three hundred," he hears, and his eyes land on Mark, who's in the living room, pacing, cell phone clutched to his ear. "Fuck you," Mark says again, wheeling around, " _Fuck_ you," and that's when he notices Eduardo. He blanches. "I have to go," he says into the phone. "Yes, I heard you. I don't fucking know, okay? I'll text you." He bites his lip, still staring at Eduardo. "I'm aware. Goodbye, Sean," he says coldly. He flips the phone closed.

He stands there for a moment, stock still, phone in hand, looking embarrassed. "I didn't mean to wake you up," he mutters.

Eduardo shakes his head. "Don't worry about it," he says. "Who was that on the phone?"

"No one."

"You said you didn't have a pimp."

"I don't," says Mark. He shuffles over to the table and picks up his backpack. "I think I have to go," he says, with a forced sort of nonchalance.

"Wait— What? Why?"

Mark rolls his eyes. "Because it's either that or you pay me a thousand dollars for tonight, instead of three hundred," he says, "which I'm fairly certain you don't want to do."

"I'll pay a thousand, it's fine," says Eduardo quickly, because why not? He has the money. "I'll go to the bank tomorrow morning. It's fine."

Mark stares at him, backpack hugged to his chest. "Really?" he says. "You'll pay?"

"Of course," says Eduardo, frowning as Mark seems to slump a bit in relief. "Mark, seriously, who's Sean?"

"No one," Mark repeats. He sits back down at the table, his backpack still in his lap. "You want to keep studying?"

"No, I want to know that you're okay."

"I'm fine."

They stare at each other for a moment. Then Mark looks away, reopens the textbook.

"He's not my pimp," he says, flipping idly through the pages. "He's my boyfriend."

"Is he the one who broke your computer?" asks Eduardo quietly, thinking of Christy.

Mark scowls, and says nothing, which is answer enough for Eduardo.

"Right, so he's your boyfriend, who smashes your laptop and forces you to prostitute yourself and tells you how much money you have to make."

"He doesn't _force_ me to do anything," says Mark, sounding annoyed. "Everything I do, I do by choice."

"You chose to get punched in the face?"

Mark shrugs. "Occupational hazard," he says easily.

"Mark," says Eduardo. "I've been in a bad relationship before. Freshman year. It ruined my life. So I know how it is, okay? How hard it is."

Wordlessly, Mark closes the textbook, then opens his backpack and takes out a bag of twizzlers.

Eduardo sighs. "Mark, if there's something wrong— if there's ever anything wrong— you can tell me. You know that, right? I want to help."

Mark is sucking on a twizzler now, working it in and out of his mouth, his cheeks hollowed out, his eyes wide.

Eduardo stares, unable to look away.

"Yes, Eduardo," says Mark at last, so flatly that Eduardo can't tell if he's being sincere or not, "I know that you want to help."

"Well— good," says Eduardo.

Mark bites into the twizzler. "But I don't need help," he says. And fuck, his lips are stained pink. 

"Well, if you do. If you ever do," Eduardo forces out.

Mark watches him silently for a moment, chewing on his stupid twizzler. "You can kiss me," he says then, as if reading Eduardo's mind. "Honestly, for a thousand bucks, you can do whatever the fuck you want with me."

Something about his tone sends a shiver through Eduardo. "What would Sean have made you do," he asks hesitantly, "if I hadn't agreed to pay?"

Mark shrugs, starting on another twizzler. "Who knows with Sean," he says. "But definitely sex in some form or another."

"With him?"

"Maybe. Probably." Mark shrugs again, then adds, "It wouldn't have been bad."

Eduardo has his doubts. He thinks of how upset Mark had been on the phone, how glad he'd seemed when Eduardo had said he'd pay.

He wishes he knew how to properly respond. Instead, he asks, "Do you want some food?" 

"I've got these," says Mark, shaking his head and holding up a twizzler.

"That's not food."

"Licorice is the root of a plant. Just like carrots. So I propose that twizzlers are in fact a vegetable."

"Ha ha," says Eduardo. "How's peanut butter and jelly sound?"

Mark stares at him stubbornly for a moment, then shrugs, then nods. "Okay."

So Eduardo makes two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and brings them back to the table, each on its own plate.

Mark says nothing, just picks up a sandwich and begins to eat fervently. Eduardo watches for a while, then looks away, feeling somehow guilty. "You should have told me you were hungry when we first got here," he mumbles. He wishes he'd thought to ask. He _should_ have thought to ask.

"I'm not hungry," says Mark through a mouthful of PB&J.

Eduardo doesn't argue, just picks up his own sandwich and stares at it. After a second he sets it back down. "Here," he says, pushing his plate toward Mark, "have mine too."

Mark has just finished his own sandwich, and he glances between Eduardo and the plate, hesitating, like he wants to say no but can't quite bring himself to. Then he starts eating.

Eduardo looks away again, doodles in his notebook, a pair of lips. Mark's lips. He turns the page quickly, feeling himself flush, and glances up.

Mark is on his last bite of sandwich. Stiffly, he meets Eduardo's eye and says, "Thanks."

"It's nothing," Eduardo tells him. "Anytime."

And he smiles at Mark. And Mark smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos keep me going, for real. <3 thanks for reading; i hope you liked it.


	8. cornflakes

They finish the practice exam at 4 AM and Eduardo closes his notebook in relief.

"Time for bed," he says with a yawn. "You want to sleep on the couch, or...?" he asks, as though there's any other real option.

The question seems to throw Mark. "Yes?" he says, a hint of trepidation in his voice. "Unless you—"

"No," says Eduardo, flustered. "Don't worry, I didn't mean— I'll get you a blanket."

Mark nods hesitantly, and Eduardo heads to the bedroom.

***

Mark still seems uncertain as Eduardo hands him the blanket. "You're sure you don't want to—" Mark says, then breaks off.

Eduardo wishes he'd stop asking, stop offering. Because of course he _wants to_ , he's wanted to since he first met Mark in the supermarket.

But at the same time he doesn't, because he's pretty sure _Mark_ doesn't, at least not right now, not under these circumstances.

"I'm sure," he says firmly, and Mark just looks at him, something like gratitude flickering in his eyes.

"Goodnight, Mark," says Eduardo.

And Mark nods. "Goodnight, Wardo."

***

Eduardo can't sleep. 

He lies awake in bed, flat on his back, and he thinks of Mark's fingers dancing over the keyboard of his laptop. He wonders what he'd been coding, wonders why he's not in college studying computer science or something.

He thinks of the phone call he overheard, and he wonders about Sean, wonders if his relationship with Mark is as one-sided and unhealthy as it sounds. 

(For a moment he thinks of Christy, then pushes her from his mind.)

He thinks of Mark standing outside in freezing weather night after night, and he wonders how often he doesn't get any customers, and how often he does. He wonders what they're like, what they do to him. He remembers Mark's bruised face, purple and swollen. _You can do whatever you want with me_ , he remembers Mark saying, and he wonders how many people take him up on the offer. The thought makes his stomach churn.

Most of all, he wonders how a kid as brilliant as Mark ended up selling himself on the street at nineteen years old.

He wonders if Mark will ever tell him the answer.

Then he squeezes his eyes shut in the darkness and turns onto his side. And at some point, eventually, he manages to fall asleep.

***

When Eduardo gets up the next morning, Mark is still sleeping: curled up on the couch, cocooned in the blanket, his fists balled under his cheek. He looks so small in the blue light of the early morning, like a little boy, and Eduardo is struck by the desire to push his hair off his forehead.

But he doesn't, of course. He lets Mark sleep and heads to the kitchen to make a piece of toast or something.

The toaster hasn't even popped before Mark enters the kitchen, hands in his pockets, curls messy.

"Hey," says Eduardo. "Morning."

"Hey," says Mark. He looks uneasy.

"What's up?" asks Eduardo.

Mark shrugs. "I was wondering if you were still gonna go to the bank this morning," he says, obviously trying not to sound too concerned.

"Yeah, of course," says Eduardo, frowning. His toast pops. "What, you thought I wouldn't pay you or something?"

Mark gives another shrug. "You wouldn't be the first," he mutters, and Eduardo tries not to be offended as he butters his toast.

"But no, I didn't think you wouldn't pay; you aren't like that," Mark says then.

Eduardo glances up, strangely touched by the simple statement.

"It's just that I realized I didn't know what time your midterm was," Mark goes on, "and I thought maybe you wouldn't end up having time."

"I'll have time. We'll go together after breakfast," Eduardo assures him, waving his toast vaguely. "What do you want?"

"Huh?"

"For breakfast. I've got waffles, cereal, eggs..."

There's a long, long pause. "Cereal," Mark says at last.

They have cornflakes. Eduardo makes small talk as they eat and Mark gives perfunctory answers, but his eyes are distant and Eduardo can tell that his mind is elsewhere.

"You okay?" Eduardo asks him at last.

Mark nods vaguely, stirring his cereal. Then he looks up. "Why don't you have friends?" he asks, like it's a perfectly normal and not-at-all-rude-or-invasive question.

"I used to," Eduardo says, perhaps a bit defensively. "Freshman year, I had plenty of friends. Then, I don't know. We grew apart, I guess."

"How?"

"I— I don't know," Eduardo repeats, which isn't true, but _my abusive ex was insanely jealous and controlling and isolated me from everyone else in my life_ isn't something he feels like sharing over breakfast. "I had a girlfriend who I started spending a lot of time with," he says. "My friends didn't like her and she didn't like them and by the time we broke up..." He trails off with a shrug. "I never really got back in touch with them."

Mark looks thoughtful, but doesn't reply. 

They finish their cornflakes in silence, and Eduardo is taking their empty bowls to the kitchen when Mark says, out of the blue:

"In answer to your question from last night, I can't afford college without financial aid. And you can't get financial aid without a high school diploma or a GED, neither of which I have. Hence, I'm not in college."

Eduardo stops, and turns to look at Mark. "You didn't graduate high school?"

"I dropped out, junior year," says Mark, with a note of finality that makes Eduardo bite back the slew of questions he'd like to ask.

He puts the dishes in the sink, turns on the water, and lets it run for a few moments, trying to imagine a high-school aged Mark.

"I bet you got straight A's," he says at last, shutting off the faucet. "Mr. 1600-on-his-SAT."

"Of course," Mark shrugs. "I was smarter than most of my teachers."

Eduardo can't help but laugh as he sits back down at the table. "Only _most_ of them, huh?"

"I was trying to be modest." Mark sounds dead serious, and Eduardo laughs again.

"You're really something, Mark."

Mark stares at him, and says, "So are you."

***

The ten hundred-dollar bills that the bank gives Eduardo are crisp and new, bundled together with a rubber band.

Eduardo hands them to Mark, who takes them gingerly and buries them deep in his backpack. "Thanks," he mutters.

"You're welcome," says Eduardo. Then, unable to stop himself, "Do you even get to keep the money?" he asks grimly.

Mark's fingers tighten on the straps of his backpack. "Yes," he says.

"All of it?"

"An adequate amount," says Mark, after a pause.

 _Sure_ , Eduardo wants to retort, _which is why you obviously can't afford to buy a decently warm coat or enough to eat, right?_ But he keeps his mouth shut, just sighs and tries not to imagine his thousand dollars going straight into the pockets of fucking "Sean."

They leave the bank, stepping out into the frigid morning air, and stand there facing each other. 

"So I have to go now," says Mark. "Sean's waiting for me."

"Oh," says Eduardo.

"I'll see you around."

Eduardo nods.

"Wardo," says Mark.

"What?"

"Don't worry." And with that, Mark turns and leaves, as always, without looking back.

Eduardo watches till he turns a corner, and worries anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading. feel free to comment & kudos if you wish; it would make my day.


	9. clean sheets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning:** this chapter contains implication and discussion of past rape.

Eduardo gets an A on his midterm. His father calls the next week, as promised, and Eduardo doesn't answer. March ends. He keeps an eye out for Mark, looks for him wherever he goes: in the supermarket, on street corners, at coffee shops.

And then one Friday, he finds him. It's 9 PM and he's arriving home from the library, and there's Mark, standing outside Eduardo's apartment building, leaning against the wall.

By the light of a street lamp, Eduardo can see that there's blood dried under his nose, crusted on his lip, and his cheek is bruised.

"Mark, Jesus, how long have you been out here?" asks Eduardo.

Mark shrugs. "Ah hour maybe."

"You should've called," says Eduardo, shaking his head, "you should've—"

"Can we go inside?" Mark asks. He sounds exhausted.

"Shit, yeah, sorry," says Eduardo, taking out his key. He stares at Mark for a moment, at his battered face, and Mark stares back.

Then Eduardo looks away, and unlocks the door.

***

"Sit down," he tells Mark once they're in his apartment. He hands him a wet paper towel. 

Mark takes it and begins to wipe roughly at the blood on his face. He doesn't sit down, even when he's finished, just hovers by the couch, arms wrapped around his middle, bloody paper towel balled up in his hand. "Sean had a party," he says, as though that explains anything.

Eduardo watches him, waiting to see if he'll expand on the statement. "Do you... always get beat up at Sean's parties?" he prompts finally.

Mark shrugs. "I always get fucked; getting beat up is an occasional bonus."

"What the hell, Mark," whispers Eduardo. "Sean throws parties where you— where you get— Is it consensual?"

"Well it's not like I say _no_. That would be idiotic."

"Jesus Christ, it doesn't matter whether or not you say no; it matters if you—" 

Mark looks up, his expression unreadable, and Eduardo breaks off.

"Does Sean know this is happening?" he asks quietly, though he's pretty sure he already knows the answer.

"Sean is well aware," Mark says. "Can I take a shower?"

"No, wait," says Eduardo. He inhales, exhales, tries to stay calm. "Sit down. Let's— let's just talk this through."

"It hurts to sit," Mark says stiffly, tightening his arms across his chest. "And I'd really just like to shower, if that's okay."

"Jesus, Mark." _It hurts to sit._ Eduardo shuts his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath. "Yeah, you can shower, of course you can shower," he says. "I'll— I'll get some stuff for you, just— hold on."

He goes to his bedroom and takes out a Harvard hoodie, a pair of Harvard sweatpants, and a couple of towels. He feels slightly nauseous.

He returns to the living room and hands the bundle to Mark, who takes it wordlessly.

"My soap and shampoo and stuff are all in the shower; feel free to use them," Eduardo tells him.

Mark nods, but doesn't move.

"Come on," says Eduardo, touching Mark's sleeve. He leads him to the bathroom and gestures for him to enter. 

Mark steps inside, hesitantly, and stares at Eduardo for a moment. Then he closes the door.

Locks it.

Eduardo heads back to the living room and flops down on the couch.

***

Mark was raped. 

That's all Eduardo can think as he stares at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sound of the shower running: the fact that someone— multiple someones?— had had sex with Mark against his will, and the fact that this is apparently a regular occurrence, sanctioned by Mark's piece of shit boyfriend or pimp or whatever the fuck he is.

Eduardo wants to scream. He wants to scream and he wants to kill anyone who's ever hurt Mark, starting with Sean. He doesn't even know what Sean looks like, but for a moment he lets himself imagine punching him in the face, strangling him till he begs for mercy.

Then he gets up and goes to his bedroom and changes the sheets on his bed, where he's decided that Mark will be sleeping tonight. Clean white sheets, soft and fresh, and clean pillowcases, and the same warm blanket he always lets Mark use.

He returns to the couch after that, takes out his laptop, and Googles Massachusetts state laws on prostitution, pimping, and pandering. He Googles pain after anal sex. He Googles what to do if you know someone who was raped, and reads the search results till he feels like crying.

At last the water turns off in the bathroom, and Mark steps out, curls dripping, his old clothes rolled up and clutched to his chest. He stands there on the threshold of the living room in Eduardo's sweatpants and hoodie, staring at the floor. "I left the towels in the bathroom," he says.

"That's fine," says Eduardo, closing his laptop and setting it aside. He stands, and Mark glances up for a fraction of a second.

"Do you want me to leave now?"

Eduardo freezes. " _What_? Mark, no, are you kidding, you're staying here tonight. And you're taking the bed, okay? I'll sleep on the couch."

He expects Mark to argue, but he doesn't, just nods mutely. Eduardo finds it unnerving, somehow. Out of character.

He slips past Mark and opens the bedroom door. "You can come in," he adds, when Mark remains motionless.

So Mark enters, and stands there beside Eduardo, gazing at the bed.

"The sheets are clean," says Eduardo. "I just changed them."

"You think I care about clean sheets?" asks Mark.

Eduardo shrugs. "I don't know. Just in case," he says. "And there are more blankets in the closet if you get cold. And there's water on the nightstand."

Mark is silent.

"Mark, I think we should talk," Eduardo says gently.

"I'd rather go to sleep," Mark replies, and there's something in his voice, something tired and broken, that Eduardo can't argue with.

"Okay," he says. "Yeah, that's fine, I— we'll talk tomorrow." He clears his throat. "Goodnight, Mark."

Mark nods, and Eduardo turns to leave.

His hand is on the doorknob when Mark says, "Wardo?"

"Yeah?"

"Leave the door open."

So he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading. please let me know your thoughts in a comment; they are my lifeblood!!


	10. leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning:** this chapter contains references to past underage sex work, sexual coercion of a minor, underage sex, and dubious consent

The couch is uncomfortable— too short for Eduardo to fully stretch his legs out, but when he curls up his knees hang over the edge. He lies there awake for God knows how long, tossing and turning under his blanket, and he might even be almost asleep, but then—

He hears movement in the bedroom. Rustling, zipping, a slight creak of the door. Footsteps on the carpet.

"Mark?" he says, sitting up.

The footsteps stop.

"You alright? You need anything?"

There's no response.

Eduardo stands up in the darkness, letting his blanket fall to the ground, and fumbles around till he finds the light switch on the wall. He flips it on, and there's Mark, backpack on his back, dressed in his old GAP hoodie and jeans, frozen.

"Mark," says Eduardo, staring. "You're not— Shit, are you leaving?"

Mark just shrugs, and stands there, arms at his sides, not meeting Eduardo's eye.

Eduardo reaches out, takes Mark's hand. It's cold. "C'mere," he says, giving his arm a little tug, and Mark trudges after him toward the couch.

"Sit down," says Eduardo. "Or I mean— you know, or lie down, or whatever is more comfortable," he adds quickly.

Mark sits on the couch, wincing almost imperceptibly. He takes off his backpack, folds his hands, and stares straight ahead. There's a kind of tension in his posture, like he's ready to bolt if need be.

Eduardo sits down too, careful to leave space between them. Then he takes a deep breath and says, firmly, "Listen to me, Mark. You can't go back to Sean."

"I have to," says Mark, without expression.

"No you don't," says Eduardo. "He doesn't own you. He doesn't care about you. You need to leave him."

"And go where?"

"Here!" Eduardo practically yells. "Stay here, stay with me, however long you want to!"

Mark shakes his head. "He'd find me," he says. "And he'd find _you_. And he would not be happy."

An understatement, Eduardo is sure. "Then call the police," he says. "Get a restraining order. Report his ass and get him arrested."

"For what?"

"For pimping you out, Mark! For taking your money! It's illegal to share in money earned by a prostitute; I looked it up!"

Mark laughs at that. Actually laughs. "You think that would work?" he asks, leaning back in the couch and staring up at the ceiling. "Eduardo, if I reported Sean to the police, here is what would happen: The police would come to our apartment and find that it's full of drugs. We would both be arrested for constructive possession, because we both live there. Sean would claim that the drugs are mine and I would have no way of proving they're not. If I said he was my pimp, he would claim he had no idea how I made the money I gave him, that I was just paying my share of the rent and he never asked questions. Meanwhile, _I_ would have admitted to engaging in prostitution."

"But—"

"In all likelihood we'd both go to jail, Eduardo. And then we'd get out of jail. And then Sean would find me, and he would _fucking kill me_." He glances over at Eduardo. "So no, I'm not going to report him for anything."

"You've thought this through," Eduardo says quietly. "You— you've done research. You've considered leaving."

Mark crosses his arms, turns his face away again. "Recently, yeah, I guess," he says. He shifts uncomfortably. "I started to wonder if maybe he wasn't the only option, but it turns out he is, so."

"He _isn't_ ," says Eduardo desperately. "I promise you he isn't. I told you before, I've been in a bad relationship, and I know what it's like to feel trapped, and—" 

"Eduardo, no offense, but you don't know what you're talking about."

It feels like a slap in the face. "I do," Eduardo protests. "I've been there."

But Mark shakes his head. "I sincerely doubt that," he says, staring into his lap. There's a pause, like he's waiting for a reply.

"Okay," says Eduardo after a moment, quietly. "Maybe I haven't. I don't— I don't know the whole situation, obviously, so—"

"I met him when I was sixteen," Mark says.

"Who, Sean?"

Mark nods. "I had just run away from home," he says. "From my foster home. I had no plan, nowhere to go, nothing. And he came up to me on the street, and asked me if I needed a place to sleep. I said I did. He took me home with him and said I could stay as long as I needed, provided that I paid him back. I said I didn't have any money, and he said something like, 'You have a mouth, don't you?' I said yes."

Eduardo closes his eyes. "Jesus, how old was he?"

"His twenties," says Mark. "Doesn't matter. I consented, Eduardo. The age of consent in Massachusetts is sixteen and I was sixteen and I consented."

Eduardo is tempted to argue, to point out the power differential between a homeless teenager and an adult offering a place to stay, but he bites his tongue. He's pretty sure Mark already knows.

"At first it was just blowjobs," Mark continues. "Then, you know. It escalated. He started bringing friends over. Started sending me out at night." He pauses, then adds, with a tired sort of shrug, "Sometimes he was cool. He gave me a laptop. I'd never had a laptop before."

"Mark," says Eduardo. "You were a kid, and you needed help, and he took advantage of you. He's a fucking predator."

Mark looks up at Eduardo, a strange, almost pitying expression on his face. "Isn't everyone?" he says.

Eduardo frowns, opens his mouth, then realizes he's unsure what to say in response. Because no, of course not everyone is a predator. But maybe in Mark's life, they have been. Maybe he's never felt safe or loved or protected, just preyed upon.

"I'll stay the rest of the night," Mark says then, disrupting Eduardo's thoughts. "But I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

Eduardo sighs, clenches his jaw. _No_ , he wants to yell, but he takes a deep breath, and the word that comes out instead— weakly, helplessly— is, "Okay."

Mark nods once, as though steeling himself for something. Then, suddenly, he draws his legs up onto the couch and adjusts his position, lies down, so he's curled up with his head about an inch from Eduardo's thigh.

Eduardo sort of freezes. "You want me to move?" he asks softly.

"No," says Mark, and Eduardo is glad. He finds that he likes Mark like this, close to him.

He leans over, picks up the blanket off the floor, and drapes it over Mark, who shifts a bit, and shuts his eyes.

Eduardo stares down at his face, at the bruise on his cheekbone and the scab on his lower lip. Then he reaches down, slowly, and rests his hand on his curls.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"Yeah," mumbles Mark. "It's— nice."

So Eduardo runs his fingers through Mark's hair, and says, as much to himself as to Mark, "We'll figure it out. Things are gonna be okay."

Mark just hums in response, and scoots a bit closer to Eduardo.

Eduardo closes his eyes. "And Mark," he adds, as he starts to drift off to sleep. "You're gonna be okay too."

And he will be. Eduardo will make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm posting this at work on mobile lmaooo, hope it works! thank u for reading. comments and kudos mean the world to me! <3


	11. interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i updated yesterday too so if you missed that chapter, read it first!

When Eduardo wakes up the next morning to the sound of his cell phone vibrating on the coffee table, Mark is gone.

Eduardo glances at his phone— the number isn't in his contacts— and ignores it. It's 6 o'clock in the morning.

"Mark?" he calls out, standing up.

There's no answer.

He checks the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom. Mark is nowhere to be found.

Eduardo flops back onto the couch and groans in frustration.

Mark had _said_ he was going to leave in the morning, but Eduardo hadn't imagined he'd meant that he'd be gone when Eduardo woke up. He'd expected to have time to talk him out of it or something, to convince him to stay. But no, Mark had left while Eduardo was asleep, and now he's probably back with Sean, and Eduardo wants to kick something. Starting with himself, for sleeping through Mark's departure.

His cell phone is buzzing again, with a call from the same number as before.

He sighs, picks it up. "Hello?" he snaps.

"Wardo?" And shit, it's Mark's voice.

Eduardo sits bolt upright. "Mark?" he says. _Where are you_ , he's about to ask, _why'd you leave?_

But then Mark says his name again, "Wardo."

His voice sounds shaky, uncertain, and Eduardo feels his chest constrict with worry. "Mark, hey, what's wrong?" he asks. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Mark says tightly. "But Wardo."

"What?"

There's a pause, and then: "Sean is dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!!!!! please leave a comment if you feel so inclined :)


	12. yogurtland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg i am sooo sorry for taking so long to update.
> 
>  **warnings:** discussion of minor character death, mentions of drug use and drug overdose, and depiction of a panic attack

_Sean is dead._ Eduardo hears the words but he doesn't quite— process them, not fully. He doesn't even know Sean, and he hates Sean, but—

"Wardo," says Mark. "Did you hear me?"

"I— what?" Eduardo manages, phone pressed to his face.

"Sean is dead," repeats Mark. "I think he overdosed; I got home and he was just..."

"He's _dead_?" squeaks Eduardo.

"That's what I've told you twice now, yes," Mark says. He sounds impatient. He also sounds like he's taking this way more calmly than Eduardo is.

"Shit," Eduardo says weakly. "Mark. Are you okay?"

"Yes," says Mark. There's a pause. "Is it alright if I come to your apartment?"

Eduardo sits up a bit. "Of course," he says immediately. "Of course, Mark; I should've said that, shit; where— where are you now?"

"Walking," says Mark. "Passing a Yogurtland. Anyway, I called 9-1-1 from his cell phone. Told them the address and hung up. It should be fine; my name's not on the lease, so I don't think there's anything they'll be able to connect to me, as long as I don't go back."

Eduardo stands up from the couch, drags a hand over his face. He feels like he's about four steps behind in this conversation. "He— you said he overdosed?"

"I think so," Mark says. "Probably on cocaine, which is what they were doing at the party."

"And you're sure he's dead?" Eduardo asks quietly.

"Yes."

"Not just... passed out or something?"

He hears Mark sigh. "Eduardo, have you ever seen a dead body before?"

"No."

"Okay, well, they're cold, for one thing. Like stone fucking cold. And they're not breathing, and they don't have a pulse, and you can just fucking _tell_."

"Alright," says Eduardo, swallowing, trying to think this through rationally, trying not to think of Mark crouched over a corpse, feeling for its vital signs. "So he's dead."

"Yeah, I—" says Mark, then breaks off.

"Mark?"

"Wardo?" Mark says, faintly.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Wardo, I—" Mark's breath hitches. "I think I'm about to have a panic attack."

"You're— what? Are you okay?"

There's no response, just the sound of Mark's breathing, suddenly ragged. 

Eduardo picks up his clothes from yesterday off the ground. "Mark, tell me where you are," he says, holding his phone between his chin and his shoulder as he yanks on his pants. Mark doesn't answer, but it's fine, thinks Eduardo— he can't be far from the Yogurtland he was passing a few minutes ago, and Eduardo knows where that is, so he'll find him. He pulls a jacket on over his t-shirt, slips into his shoes, and grabs his keys.

"Mark," he says. "Just stay there, okay? You're alright. I'm on my way."

***

Which is how Eduardo ends up half-walking, half-jogging toward Yogurtland at six o'clock in the morning, his cell phone clutched to his cheek, listening to Mark hyperventilating on the other end of the line. 

He has no idea what you're supposed to say to someone who's having panic attack, but he's pretty sure you're supposed to talk to them reassuringly, so he tries. _Try to breathe, Mark_ , he says. _You're okay. I'm almost there._

Mark lets out a noise that sounds like a sob, and suddenly Eduardo wonders if he's making things worse.

"Mark?" he says. "Can you hear me? Do you want me to shut up?"

"No," Mark gasps. "Wardo. Please."

"Okay," Eduardo says quickly. "Okay, it's okay. I'll keep talking. It's okay."

It's still dark out— the sun won't rise for another half hour— and the streets are empty. It feels sort of surreal, jogging through the pre-dawn stillness, trying to speak soothingly to Mark while simultaneously trying not to start panicking himself.

He's maybe two minutes away from the Yogurtland when he heard Mark exhale, a shuddering breath. "Eduardo?" he says, softly.

"Mark?"

"I— I think I can breathe again."

"That's great!" says Eduardo. "Mark, that's great. Are you still by the Yogurtland?"

There's a pause. "Yeah," says Mark. "Pretty close by it."

"Okay," Eduardo tells him. "Mark, I'll be there in a second."

Mark swallows. "I know," he says. He sounds like he's about to cry. "Thank you."

And suddenly Eduardo kind of wants to cry too.

***

He finds Mark sitting in the middle of the sidewalk near the Yogurtland, legs drawn up to his chest and head buried in his knees.

"Mark!" he says. His voice echoes in the empty street, and Mark glances up.

Eduardo runs over to him, crouches down. "Mark. Are you okay?" he asks.

Mark nods vacantly.

"Are you sure?" Eduardo presses, reaching out to touch Mark's shoulder.

Mark twitches away. "I'm alright," he says, shooting Eduardo a look that Eduardo can read even in the dim light of the street-lamps: _I don't want to talk right now._

"Okay," says Eduardo, nodding, because that's fine. They don't have to talk. "Do you want to— to sit here for a while?" he asks.

Mark shakes his head. "I want to go," he says, but he doesn't move.

Eduardo stands up. "You— you need a hand?" he asks, reaching out his arm. Mark hesitates, then takes it, and pulls himself shakily to his feet. 

"Thanks," he says, still clutching Eduardo's sleeve.

"No problem," says Eduardo.

They start walking. Mark doesn't let go of Eduardo till they reach the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! please please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed :)


	13. pizza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally WHAT is this chapter sjhdsjdhj it's so emo and angsty lmao. i hope u enjoy though?
> 
> warnings: mentions of drug overdose and death

"I don't know why I freaked out," Mark says. "It's not like I've never seen a drug overdose before."

It's 7 AM, and they're at Eduardo's apartment, sitting side by side on his couch. 

"You have?" Eduardo asks.

"Yes," says Mark, expressionless. "My mom OD'd when I was ten."

Eduardo glances over at Mark, who's staring down, brow furrowed, fiddling with the string of his hoodie. The bruise on his cheek looks worse than it did last night.

"She—" Eduardo hesitates. "Did she die?"

Mark nods. "I came home from school and found her on the kitchen floor."

"That sounds... Jesus. That sounds awful," Eduardo says quietly. "For a ten-year-old, shit. I mean, for anyone. But especially for a kid, I— I can't even imagine."

"I didn't know what to do," says Mark. "I mean, I _did_ ; I knew I should call 9-1-1, but I guess I wasn't sure? So—" He shakes his head. "I ordered some fucking pizza. And when the guy came to deliver it, I told him I didn't have any money and also my mother was dead. He thought I was joking, so I brought him to see her." He glances for a second at Eduardo. "Probably traumatized that poor guy for life," he says flatly.

Eduardo swallows, unsure how to respond, but then Mark is speaking again:

"He was nice," he says, staring at his knees. "He stayed with me until the police and paramedics came. And he let me eat the pizza. I remember I was hungry." Mark's frown deepens, and he gives the string of his hoodie a small, experimental yank. "I always knew she was a drug addict," he says, softly. "I just. I didn't think she'd _die_." His voice is small and broken and Eduardo wants, more than anything, to touch him, to hold him.

"Mark," he says. "Come here."

"What?"

Eduardo lifts an arm. "C'mere," he repeats. When Mark just stares, Eduardo says, " _Mark_. I want to hug you."

"Oh."

"If that's okay, I mean."

Mark sort of nods. "Okay," he says. 

And then he starts to cry.

***

They hug.

Or rather, Eduardo hugs Mark. Mark just kind of sits there, crying, his chin resting on Eduardo's shoulder, as Eduardo holds him close and rubs circles on his back.

"I never cry," Mark says.

"Crying can be good," Eduardo tells him gently.

"I don't even know what I'm crying about." Mark sounds annoyed. "She was a shitty mom. And Sean was a shitty person."

"Mm," hums Eduardo. "That's alright. You can still be sad."

"I'm not sad."

Eduardo touches Mark's head, trails a finger through his curls and down the back of his neck.

"I just— I never want to see a dead body again in my life," Mark says.

"Yeah, I don't blame you."

Mark draws a ragged breath. "You know I can't eat pizza anymore? It makes me throw up."

"That makes sense," Eduardo says.

"No it doesn't. Nothing makes sense." Mark sort of sniffs, and pulls away. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and clears his throat. He seems embarrassed, uncertain, and it occurs to Eduardo that he probably doesn't get hugged very often. "Can I go back to sleep?" Mark asks.

"Oh, yeah, of course," says Eduardo. "Go for it. You can take the bed again; sleep as long as you need."

"Thanks," says Mark. He glances at Eduardo, then back down. "You know, um," he says, picking at a loose thread in his jeans. "When I was in foster care there was this kid I lived with for a while. Dustin. He got nightmares."

Eduardo nods, unsure what to do with this information.

"He'd wake up screaming," Mark goes on. "And he couldn't go back to sleep unless I got in bed with him." He glances again at Eduardo. "I guess it made him feel safe? Or something."

Eduardo frowns. "You want— Are you saying you want me to sleep in the bed... too?" he asks, slowly.

Mark shrugs.

"With you?"

Another shrug, and then: "I don't know; do you want to?"

Eduardo imagines, for a moment, Mark curled up beside him under the covers, comfortable and warm, his head tucked into Eduardo's neck, Eduardo's arms around him. "Yeah," he says, honestly.

"Okay," says Mark. "Me too."

***

Mark lies a good two feet away from Eduardo in the queen-sized bed, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the ceiling.

Eduardo settles on his side and stares at Mark's face, softly lit by the light filtering in through the blinds.

"You alright?" he asks.

"Do you think he's still there?" is Mark's response.

"Who, Sean?"

"Yeah. Do you think they took him away already?"

"The paramedics or whatever?"

Mark nods.

"Probably," says Eduardo.

"Yeah," mumbles Mark. "Me too." 

They lie there in silence for a while.

Then Mark turns over in bed, so he's facing Eduardo. "Wardo?" he says.

"Yeah?"

"Do you still want to fuck me? I can't tell anymore."

Eduardo gapes for a moment, then scrambles to sits up in bed. "Mark—" he says.

"You wanted to when we first met," Mark continues. "And you keep helping me." He reaches up and ghosts his thumb across Eduardo's lower lip.

"Mark," Eduardo repeats, batting away his hand. "No—"

"And now we're in bed together." Mark frowns. "But you haven't done anything."

" _Mark._ "

Mark stares at him.

"Listen to me," says Eduardo. "I— I think you're attractive. I'm attracted to you." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "But Mark— Jesus. I'm not helping you because I want to have sex. I'm not _here_ because I want to have sex. I'm here because I'm your _friend_. You don't owe me sex, you don't owe me anything; you understand that, right?"

Mark doesn't answer, just hunches his shoulders a little under the sheets, and even in the gray morning light, Eduardo can read the strange mix of apprehension and relief on his face.

"I'm not gonna do anything to you that you don't want," Eduardo tells him. "Ever. Okay? I'll get out of this bed right now if you'd be more comfortable alone."

Mark shakes his head at that. "No," he says. "That wasn't— I want— I want— I need you here. Wardo."

Eduardo frowns. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure," says Mark, his voice firmer than it's sounded all morning.

"Okay," says Eduardo, hesitantly. He lies back down, adjusts the covers, and immediately, Mark scoots a few inches nearer to him.

Eduardo breathes in and out, in and out, gazing at Mark's face, his lips, his closed eyes. He reaches over, absently, and touches Mark's bruised cheek.

Mark's lashes flutter at the contact, and he scoots even closer, curls up beside Eduardo, pressing his face to his chest. "How long can I stay?" he asks into Eduardo's shirt.

"In my house?"

Mark nods.

"Jesus, Mark. Forever," says Eduardo. "I told you before, remember? Stay as long as you want." He feels Mark's shoulders relax.

Eduardo strokes his hair, and Mark melts against him, and pretty soon, he's asleep.

Eduardo stays awake, and holds him tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!!!! feel free to leave a kudos or comment!! talk to you soon :)


	14. waffles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: mention of past rape
> 
> also i'm not sure if the timeline is totally fresh in your minds, but this is still the next day after sean's party. like, there was the party at sean's apartment (at night), then mark came to eduardo's house, then mark left early in the morning, found sean dead, came back to eduardo's house (still in the morning), and then went to sleep in eduardo's bed.

It's a few hours before Mark wakes up— slowly at first, stirring sleepily, and then in a sudden panic, sitting bolt upright.

Eduardo sits up too, and touches Mark's arm. "Hey," he says, "it's okay."

"Wardo?" says Mark, sounding confused.

"Yeah. You're in my bed. It's alright. You just took a nap. It's like 10 in the morning."

"I forgot where I was," Mark mutters. He presses his hands to his face. "Shit," he says then. "Sean is dead."

"Yeah." Eduardo gives Mark's arm a little squeeze. "But you're safe. Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Right," says Eduardo. "How do waffles sound?"

***

Eduardo makes Eggo waffles in the toaster, three for Mark and two for himself. He slathers them with butter and syrup and brings them to the table, where Mark is sitting, still dressed in Eduardo's hoodie and sweatpants.

Mark takes his plate and starts eating immediately, not pausing for breath until he's finished his first waffle. "I guess his friends left," he says then, brow furrowed.

"Huh?"

"Sean's friends. The ones at the party. They must have known he overdosed, but they just... left him there."

Eduardo hadn't considered the friends, but Mark is right. "They probably panicked," he muses.

"So did I," Mark says. "I still called 9-1-1."

"Well, you're a good person," Eduardo replies. "They're not."

Mark looks away, and nibbles at his second waffle. "Yeah," he says, "they're a bunch of assholes."

Eduardo hesitates for a moment, then says, "Mark, not to bring up, like... uh. Just, speaking of the party—" He pauses, and tries to determine the most delicate way to phrase his question. "Did whoever had sex with you last night use a condom?" he lands on at last.

"Yeah, they did." Mark scowls.

"Okay. Sorry. I just wanted to be sure."

"Sean always makes them use condoms," says Mark. He takes another bite of waffle. "Made them. Whatever."

"How often did it happen?" Eduardo asks softly, before he can help himself. "The— the thing with the parties."

Mark shrugs. "Maybe once a month. Twice a month, sometimes." He glances at Eduardo. "I always hated it, but it wasn't always as bad as last night."

"That's... something," says Eduardo, at a loss as to how to respond to a statement which boils down to _sometimes when I was raped, it wasn't as bad as other times._

"Yeah," says Mark, moving on to his third waffle. "It's something."

***

They spend the afternoon on the couch, Eduardo reading his biology textbook and Mark coding on Eduardo's laptop.

"What are you working on?" Eduardo asks at one point, watching Mark's fingers fly across the keyboard.

"A website."

"What kind of website?"

"A cool one," is all Mark says, and Eduardo doesn't press him for details, just goes back to reading.

But then: "I'll tell you once it's more developed," Mark says a few minutes later, glancing up for a fraction of a second. "I don't really know what it is yet. I just know that it's cool."

Eduardo smiles, and says, "Okay, well. I can't wait to hear about it."

***

Hours pass, and it reaches the point where Eduardo's brain has stopped retaining anything he reads. He checks his watch. It's 4 PM.

"Do you want to go shopping?" he asks suddenly, closing his textbook.

Mark looks up. "Shopping?"

"Yeah. For, like, foods you like? Or clothes. Or anything really; I don't know. You probably had to leave all your stuff at Sean's, huh?"

Mark shakes his head. "I brought my stuff."

"Where?"

"In my backpack," says Mark, as though Eduardo is being stupid.

"What'd you bring?"

Mark frowns, then sets the computer on the coffee table and lifts his backpack onto his lap, where he holds it protectively. "Stuff," he says. "I don't have to show you."

"No, you don't," says Eduardo, strangely proud of Mark for saying so, though he's dying of curiosity.

Mark seems to hesitate, then shrugs. "But I can," he says. "I can show you." And in one fluid motion, he unzips the backpack and empties it onto the carpet in front of the couch. "It's just junk anyway," he mutters.

There's a dilapidated pair of sneakers, a Rubik's cube with half its stickers missing, a green dart, a computer mouse, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a comb, and a couple of photographs.

"I have extra boxers too," Mark says with a half shrug, patting his backpack. "They're in the front pocket."

Eduardo nods, staring down at the assortment of objects on the carpet. It makes him sad, to think that this is all Mark owns. "Can I see the photos?" he asks quietly.

"Oh." Mark reaches down and grabs them, holds them out to Eduardo. "Sure," he says.

Eduardo takes them gingerly. 

The first photo shows a young lady sitting on a bench with a curly-haired little kid. 

"That's my mom," says Mark. "And me."

Eduardo nods, and flips to the second picture, which shows Mark again, older now, maybe twelve or thirteen, with his arm around a younger boy. Neither of them are smiling.

"That's Dustin," Mark says.

"And you."

"Yeah."

Eduardo gives him back the photos, feeling sort of melancholy, and Mark slides them into his backpack. Then, one by one, he picks up the other items off the floor and replaces them too, zips up the backpack, and sighs. "See?" he says. "Just junk."

"It's not junk," says Eduardo. "It's—"

"Anyway," Mark cuts him off. "I don't have money to go shopping."

Eduardo blinks. "Mark," he says, "are you serious? I'll pay; it's no big deal."

"Why?" asks Mark.

"Because. I have plenty of money and you're my friend," Eduardo says firmly. He taps the front of his textbook. "And because if I have to read one more word about biology right now I'm gonna go insane."

Mark almost smiles at that, and says, "Okay. Fine. I guess."

He puts on his backpack, and Eduardo grabs his keys.

***

They take the bus to Target.

Mark shuffles around behind Eduardo through the store, claiming to have no preferences about anything, but he picks out like five hoodies and an assortment of t-shirts and a few additional pairs of jeans, along with some sweatpants and underwear.

"What are your favorite foods?" Eduardo asks as they enter the grocery section.

"I don't know. I'll eat anything," says Mark, which, having seen Mark eat, Eduardo has no trouble believing. "Just. Not pizza," Mark adds.

"Yeah," says Eduardo.

"I like tuna," Mark volunteers after a while. "And Twizzlers. And I liked that spaghetti you gave me, remember?"

So Eduardo adds tuna and Twizzlers and spaghetti to the cart, along with anything else that Mark shows even the slightest hint of interest in as they pass.

"Do you need any toiletries?" Eduardo suggests then.

"Maybe a razor," says Mark, frowning. "I can use your shampoo and stuff."

"Get whatever you want, Mark," Eduardo urges him. "Seriously."

So Mark gathers shampoo and shaving cream and razors, and places them somewhat sheepishly in the cart.

Then they head on to checkout.

***

The total comes out to over three hundred dollars, and to Eduardo's slight surprise, Mark doesn't protest the amount, just stares intently at the floor as Eduardo hands over his credit card.

It's not until they're back on the bus that Mark says, shortly, "I'm not worth that much money unless I'm getting fucked."

Eduardo doesn't respond immediately, just sighs. Then he takes Mark's hand and says, tiredly, "Mark, you deserve some decent clothes and your own fucking shampoo. I don't care about the price. And besides, my fucking watch cost twice as much as all this stuff combined, so."

"Your watch cost 686 dollars?"

"Something like that," says Eduardo.

"Must be nice to be rich," Mark states, bitterly, and Eduardo's not sure how to reply. But then Mark laces his fingers through Eduardo's and rests his head on his shoulder. "Thank you," he says.

Eduardo squeezes his hand. "You're welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! i've already written the next two chapters too so those should be coming soonishly. comments and kudos are always very much appreciated; let me know your thoughts!!! <3


	15. options

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: reference to childhood sexual abuse, mentions of general past abuse, and also eduardo blaming himself for staying in an abusive relationship (though i want to stress here that someone who stays in an abusive relationship is NOT to blame)

They sleep in Eduardo's bed again that night.

"I used to sleep in Sean's bed too," says Mark, once the lights are out and they're side by side together. And Jesus Christ, Eduardo really wishes Mark would _not_ bring up Sean in contexts like this; it makes him feel dirty.

"Mm," he replies, noncommittally.

"He always had me sleep without pants or underwear though," Mark adds. "Said he needed easy access."

Eduardo exhales shortly. "That's fucking disgusting," he says.

"He made me," says Mark, his voice suddenly small, and Eduardo's stomach flips.

"Mark, shit, I didn't mean _you_ ," he says quickly. "I meant Sean; _Sean_ is disgusting, for treating you like that. Jesus."

"Oh," says Mark. Eduardo feels him turn onto his side, so his back is to Eduardo. Then he says, evenly, "I would have been homeless without him. When I ran away. I told you that before."

Eduardo runs his fingers down Mark's back. "I know," he says.

"Shelters are mandated reporters; a minor can't stay in one without parental permission," Mark continues. "I didn't have any friends. I had nowhere to go."

"Mark, I don't blame you for living with him."

"Yes you do," Mark says stiffly. "You think I let him take advantage of me."

"What? No, Mark, when did I say that? That's not what I think at all."

"Then what do you think?"

"I—" Eduardo doesn't answer right away, because he wants to get this right, needs to get this right. "I think that you were sixteen," he says at last, "and you were in a bad situation, and you made the best choice you had available to you, and a fucking _adult_ saw you were a vulnerable kid and preyed on you. And it wasn't your fault."

"I could have left. I could have gone back to foster care."

"Yeah, well, I'm assuming there was a reason you ran away."

"I ran away because I was sick of getting molested," says Mark. 

Eduardo shuts his eyes and draws a deep, steadying breath. "Okay, see?" he whispers. "That wasn't a good option."

"But it was _an_ option," Mark says. "I did, in fact, have options. And yet, I stayed with Sean for three fucking years."

Eduardo touches his shoulder. "Mark. All your options were shitty. Really, really shitty. You went with the one that seemed least shitty."

"True, at least with prostitution I got paid," Mark says, completely impassively. "And it sort of felt like a choice. Plus if I told myself Sean was my boyfriend, then it didn't matter as much what he did to me." He pauses, inhales. "I'm really fucked up," he says then, and he sounds so detached, so empty, that it's sort of unsettling.

Eduardo scoots over toward Mark's side of the bed, so their bodies are touching, and places his hand on Mark's arm. "I love you," he says softly.

"You love me?"

"Yes," breathes Eduardo.

There's a long moment of silence. "Okay," says Mark at last, and then: "Goodnight, Eduardo."

Eduardo doesn't respond, doesn't know what to say, and Mark just lies there silently until his breathing evens out and Eduardo is pretty sure he's asleep.

Eduardo keeps his hand on Mark's arm, and thinks. 

He thinks about Christy, about how in some ways, he understands what it's like to stay with an awful person for way longer than you should, to _know_ that someone is abusive but keep coming back to them anyway. But his situation with Christy had been different than Mark's with Sean. _Eduardo, no offense, but you don't know what you're talking about_ , Mark had told him last time he'd brought it up, and Mark had been right. Eduardo had had money, and family, and choices, and yet he'd stayed anyway. He actually _had_ been to blame. 

And then he thinks about Mark, little Mark from those photos, Mark at ten and thirteen and sixteen, enduring neglect and abuse and God knows what else, and carrying around his backpack of battered treasures, and dreaming of something better, and finally running away, only to fall into the hands of fucking _Sean_. It makes him feel sick. It also makes him so fucking glad that Sean is dead, because as far as Eduardo is concerned, people like Sean don't deserve to live.

He wonders, then, how Mark feels about it. He tries to imagine what he himself would have done, how he would have felt, if Christy had died while they were dating. _Free_ , is the first thing that comes to his mind, but no, he'd loved Christy. He would have felt devastated. Devastated, and heartbroken, and so, so alone. He'd felt bad enough when he'd broken up with her, Jesus; he can't imagine what he'd have felt if she'd died. Relief hadn't come until weeks later, _months_ later, and Jesus Christ— Mark must feel so confused.

Eduardo rolls onto his back and sighs into the darkness.

He shouldn't have said I love you. That had been too much, too fast, despite it being the truth. Because Mark is confused, and probably grieving, and what he needs right now is somewhere where he can feel safe, somewhere where he doesn't owe anybody anything, certainly not somewhere where he gets blindsided by nighttime declarations of love.

Eduardo agonizes for a while, hating himself, but there's nothing he can do about it now if he doesn't want to wake Mark up. 

He'll apologize tomorrow, he decides. First thing. 

And at last, he lets himself fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading!! :) more to come very soon.


	16. fifty-three dollars

When Eduardo wakes up the next morning, Mark isn't in the bed. He checks his watch— it's 7:13 AM— and throws off the covers, dashes out of the bedroom—

And there's Mark, sitting at the kitchen table, Eduardo's laptop open in front of him.

"You're still here," says Eduardo, exhaling in relief.

Mark looks up. "Yes?" he says. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I was— when you weren't in bed I thought you'd left. Jesus, I thought I upset you with... with what I said last night."

"What, that you love me?"

"Yeah," says Eduardo, scratching his head. "That."

Mark's eyes are fixed on the screen as he types. "You didn't upset me," he says.

"I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, or— or embarrassed, or anything."

"I know."

"And you don't... you don't have to say it back, and it wasn't supposed to be a guilt trip or anything, just—"

"Wardo." Mark glances up for a second, then goes back to typing. "I said I know."

"Okay. Well... good." Eduardo shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and sits down at the table across from Mark. "I did mean it though," he adds, quietly, hesitantly.

Mark doesn't look up. "I know," he says, for the third time.

"You do?"

"Yeah, I get the impression you usually mean what you say," Mark shrugs.

"I try to, yeah, I guess," says Eduardo. He runs a hand over his face. "So you're alright?"

Mark sighs, presses a few buttons, and closes the laptop. "Wardo, you worry too much," he says, finally meeting Eduardo's gaze. "Can I have some cereal?"

"I—" The question throws Eduardo a little. He's pretty sure Mark's never asked outright for food before. "Yeah, of course," he says. "Go for it. Help yourself."

Mark stands up, pushes in his chair, and wordlessly heads to the kitchen. 

Eduardo leans over and buries his face in his arms. 

He listens to the clinking of ceramic and the sound of cereal being poured and tries to take Mark's assurances to heart. Mark certainly doesn't _seem_ upset, but then again, Mark has no doubt had practice keeping his emotions hidden, so who the fuck knows what he's really feeling.

"You still psyching yourself out?" Mark asks, returning to the table and setting down his bowl.

Eduardo lifts his face and smiles weakly. "A little," he admits.

"Don't," says Mark, as if it's that easy. He sits down.

Eduardo watches him take one bite of cereal, then another, and another, in rapid succession. 

"Mark, listen," he says then, moving on to his second topic of concern, "I'm sure you probably have a lot of feelings about— about Sean, and everything, and if you ever want to talk..."

Mark stares at him, unblinking, still chewing his cereal.

"It's okay if you feel confused or— it's okay to, like, mourn him, you know?" Eduardo goes on. "Even if he was a total piece of shit."

Mark swallows, rolls his eyes. "Eduardo, I'm fine," he says then. "I'm not in fucking _mourning_."

Eduardo doesn't back down. "Okay," he says. "But I'm sure it's still confusing, and just." He sighs. "I'm here for you, okay?"

Mark lowers his gaze at that, scoops up some Cheerios in his spoon and stares at them for a while. Then, at last, he nods. "Okay."

***

Eduardo has Cheerios for breakfast too, plus some coffee. 

When he's finished, he and Mark retire into the living room and settle on the couch, just like yesterday.

"Still coding your website?" asks Eduardo, opening up his economics notebook.

Mark's fingers go still. "No," he says.

"Are you working on something new then?"

Mark's lips twist and he looks away. "I'm researching the GED," he mumbles. "I thought I might take it soon."

"Oh!" says Eduardo. "Yeah, Mark, that's great; that sounds great!"

"It's 125 dollars," Mark says.

"That's no problem."

Mark doesn't reply, just sets the laptop down on the ground and picks up his backpack. Slowly, he unzips the frontmost pocket and pulls out a few folded bills.

"Sometimes Sean let me keep some of the money I made," he says, not meeting Eduardo's eye. "That's how I bought, like, food. And condoms and shit."

Condoms and Red Bull, Eduardo thinks, remembering their first meeting.

"But anyway, I tried to save some, and I've got 53 bucks." He holds the money out to Eduardo. "I was keeping it in case you ever made me leave, but shit, I owe you so fucking much, you should just take it."

"Mark, you don't owe me anything," says Eduardo, gently pushing away Mark's hand.

But Mark shakes his head. "Yes I _do_ ," he says. "Stop saying I don't. I owe you 1343 dollars and 8 cents, and that's not even counting the GED and all the food you've given me, or the fact that you're apparently letting me live here rent-free for the foreseeable future." He glances up briefly, eyes hard. "This is _my_ money, I earned it, and I'm giving it to you whether you like it or not." And with that, he drops the money in Eduardo's lap and crosses his arms over his backpack, scowling at the floor.

Eduardo picks up the money— two twenties, a ten, and three ones, all crumpled and sort of grimy-feeling. Money that Mark made selling his body on the fucking streets. Money Mark went without food to save up. "I can't take this," he says.

Mark looks up then, brow furrowed, his eyes pleading and maybe a little wet. "Eduardo, for God's sake, I feel like a fucking parasite." Mark sniffs, and slaps impatiently at his cheek. "I'm not crying," he says quickly. "I just— fuck, Wardo, I just really want you to take the fucking money. Please." 

And as guilty as Eduardo would feel taking all Mark's savings, he wonders if it's actually crueler to refuse. Wonders if maybe by refusing, he's somehow robbing Mark of his dignity, or agency, or something. He wonders, then, if Mark's ever been given something, even once in his life, without the expectation of repayment. "Mark, friends give each other things for free," Eduardo says, quietly. "Without asking for anything in return. You don't need to pay me back."

Mark shrugs. "Fine, then imagine I'm giving you 53 dollars for free and not asking for anything in return," he says. "Like— a gift, or whatever."

Eduardo closes his eyes, unsure whether Mark actually understands what he's talking about. But he pockets the money anyway, because somehow it seems like the right thing to do. "A gift," he repeats. "Not something you owed me."

Mark hugs his backpack a little tighter, and nods.

Eduardo wants, suddenly, to kiss him.

"I'll get you my credit card," he says instead, standing up. "And you can sign up for the GED."

***

Mark chooses a testing date three weeks away.

"Fist bump," says Eduardo, peering over at the 'Congratulations, your sign-up was successful!' screen on the laptop. Mark gives him a look, but fist bumps back dutifully.

"I don't think I have to study," he says. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I already know all the content. But maybe you could help me study a little bit anyway, just to be sure?"

"Of course, yeah, I'd be honored," says Eduardo. "Hey," he adds then, earnestly. "I'm really proud of you."

"That's a bit premature, don't you think? Since the test's not for three weeks," Mark points out, but he's smiling. He's smiling, and the bruise on his cheek is fading, and it's so fucking nice to see him in a clean hoodie and jeans without holes in the knees, and—

Eduardo touches his shoulder, gives it a celebratory little shake. "I meant I'm proud of you for everything," he says.

To Eduardo's slight surprise, Mark nods, still smiling, and seems to understand. "Thanks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! :D i hope you enjoyed.


	17. christy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mention of vomit, mentions of abuse, and eduardo blaming himself for abuse
> 
> i think i've updated five days in a row now? lol

Mark codes constantly— he wakes up before Eduardo and codes in the morning, he stays at home coding while Eduardo attends classes, he sits next to Eduardo and codes while Eduardo studies.

"How much longer until it's ready?" Eduardo asks one day. "Your website," he specifies, when Mark looks confused.

"Oh." Mark shrugs. "A month, maybe," he says. And then: "I'm gonna call it Facebook."

"Facebook," says Eduardo. "I like it."

Mark says, "Me too."

***

A week passes, it's Thursday morning, and Eduardo is on his way to his microeconomics lecture when he hears someone calling his name.

And fuck, he knows the voice. 

He turns around, and there she is— there's _Christy_ , hurrying toward him, beaming. 

He freezes.

"Eduardo!" she says, and now she's right in front of him. Her hair is up and she's wearing a white button down and a pair of high heels and Jesus, she's fucking beautiful.

Eduardo feels like he can't breathe, can't think. "I have a restraining order against you," he manages.

"What are you gonna do, report me?" she asks, smiling.

"I— I could."

Christy laughs, and runs her fingers down his arm. "But you won't," she says. "We both know you won't."

"I will."

Christy laughs again. "Oh, Eduardo," she says. "It's good to see you. It's been, what— a year? Two years?"

"Christy, I'm serious, get away from me," says Eduardo.

"Why don't _you_ get away from _me_?" says Christy, gliding her hand back up his arm. "Or at least— you can try." To Eduardo, it sounds like a threat.

And then Christy is kissing him, and her tongue is in his mouth, and Eduardo feels like he's choking.

"I miss you," she says against his lips, softly. She pulls away and runs her manicured nails through his hair. "You broke my heart, you know."

"Christy, I'm gonna leave," Eduardo says, but she grabs his arm before he can move. 

"No," she says, her voice low and dangerous. "You're not."

Eduardo yanks his arm out of her grasp. And when she reaches out again, he shoves her, hard.

She stumbles backward in her heels. "Did you just fucking _push_ me?" she demands, lunging forward.

And before Eduardo can answer, before he even knows what's happening, some _guy_ is there, stepping between them, shielding Christy protectively. "Is this motherfucker giving you trouble?" he asks Christy, and she just nods, eyes wide.

The guy gives Eduardo a dirty look. 

"I didn't—" says Eduardo, but the guy cuts him off.

"I fucking _saw_ you push her," he says. "Fucking asshole." He punches Eduardo's shoulder. Then he turns to Christy. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"I am now," Christy says, her voice small and innocent.

"Alright," says the guy, taking her arm. "Come on. I'll walk you where you need to go." 

Christy nods, fervently, and together, the two of them head off. 

She glances back, exactly once, to blow Eduardo a kiss.

Eduardo leans over a nearby planter and vomits.

***

Eduardo walks home, barely aware of his surroundings. By the time he reaches his apartment he feels cold and clammy and vaguely nauseous again.

Mark glances up from the laptop when he enters. "You don't have class?"

"I'm not going," Eduardo says, flopping beside him on the couch and tossing down his book bag.

Mark watches him for a few moments, then frowns. "Is… something wrong?"

"I saw my girlfriend," sighs Eduardo.

"Your girlfriend?"

"Ex-girlfriend."

Mark is silent.

"I haven't seen her since the end of freshman year," Eduardo says. "She's not supposed to be within 50 feet of me. But she goes to Harvard and she saw me on campus and just… came over and started talking."

"What did she say?"

"I don't know. It's good to see me. I broke her heart. A lot of bullshit." He sighs. "Then she kissed me."

"Is she the one who—" Mark pauses. "You said you were in a bad relationship once; was it with her?"

Eduardo nods.

Mark closes the laptop and rests his cheek on his hand. "How bad was it?" he asks.

"Not as bad as Sean."

"Okay, but how bad?"

Eduardo just shrugs. He really doesn't feel like going into this, not right now. And not with Mark, who's been through immeasurably worse.

"Must have been pretty bad, if you took out a restraining order," Mark says bluntly.

Eduardo shrugs again.

"You don't want to talk about it?"

"Not really," says Eduardo.

"Okay." Mark opens up the laptop, and returns to his coding, occasionally throwing Eduardo a curious glance.

For a while, Eduardo just sits there.

Then he gets up, and goes to the bathroom, and brushes his teeth three times. 

It doesn't do any good. His mouth still tastes like Christy and vomit.

***

He dreams about her that night. 

In the dream, they're in bed, having sex. Except the bed is on fire, and Eduardo is burning, but he can't scream— and Christy's on top of him, so he can't get up either— and he still can't scream, fuck, _why can't he scream?_ —

He wakes up.

"Wardo?" someone is saying. It's Mark. "Eduardo, wake up."

Suddenly there's light— the lamp on the nightstand, thinks Eduardo vaguely. Mark must have turned it on.

"There," Mark says. He's sitting up, staring at Eduardo. "You're okay," he goes on, frowning. "You just had a nightmare."

Eduardo blinks in the brightness and presses his hands to his face. "Sorry," he says, breathing hard. "Sorry I woke you up."

"It's fine," Mark tells him.

"It was about Christy," Eduardo says. He inhales, exhales, tries to get his breathing under control. 

"Is that your ex?"

Eduardo nods.

"You were yelling," says Mark.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to." He glances at Mark, who's watching him with concern.

"Stop saying you're sorry."

"Sorry, I just—" Eduardo sits up in bed and draws his knees toward his chest. "I haven't had a nightmare in months," he says.

"Nightmares are shit."

Eduardo rests his forehead on his knees. "I wish I could just _forget_ about her," he says. "Jesus Christ."

"It's hard to forget about traumatic shit," Mark intones. "Trauma is stored differently in the brain."

"It wasn't really trauma," mumbles Eduardo. "Just, like, emotional abuse? Sometimes physical. Mainly emotional." 

Mark settles his hand, tentatively, on Eduardo's shoulder blade.

"It was usually my fault," says Eduardo. "But then other times... she'd just go crazy for no reason."

"Fuck that," says Mark, and his hand clenches into a fist against Eduardo's back. "It was not your fault."

"Sometimes—"

"No," says Mark. "Not sometimes, not ever. Fuck Christy."

Eduardo looks over, and Mark's eyes are blazing.

Eduardo's too tired to argue. "Let's go back to sleep," he says quietly.

They stare at each other for a moment. 

"Alright," says Mark, at last. He turns the lamp back off, and they lie down together in the darkness, close but not touching.

Eduardo shuts his eyes, and sees fire, and doesn't sleep for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!! :) comments and kudos always make my day


	18. twizzlers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've updated every day for the past six days lol, so be sure to catch up if you haven't! :)
> 
> warnings: fairly detailed discussion of past abusive behavior and past painful sex/rape

Eduardo sleeps in till noon the next day.

It's Mark who wakes him up, sitting down on the bed and prodding him in the shoulder. "You have class at 1," he says.

Eduardo rolls over and groans. "I'm skipping it," he says. "Don't feel good."

"You want some food?" asks Mark.

"No thanks."

"You want a twizzler?" Mark tries then, leaning over and dangling a package of twizzlers in front of Eduardo's face.

Eduardo shakes his head.

"Alright," says Mark. "Suit yourself."

Eduardo rolls back over and watches as Mark opens the package and takes a twizzler out for himself.

"Remember when I fellated one of these in front of you?" Mark asks, biting into it.

Eduardo blushes, looks away. "It turned your lips all pink," he mumbles, before he can help himself.

Mark just laughs. Then he stands up. "I'll be back," he says. "I have to get something."

Eduardo nods, still thinking about Mark's lips, and Mark leaves the room.

***

When Mark returns, he's got a notebook in one hand the GED prep book Eduardo bought him in the other. He climbs into bed, his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out in front of him. "I'm gonna study," he announces.

"You've gotten perfect scores on the last three practice tests," says Eduardo.

Mark shrugs. "Maybe this will be the one I bomb," he says.

Eduardo is about to disagree, but then Mark smiles, and it occurs to him that maybe Mark just wants to keep him company. Which— well, Eduardo could use the company. So he lets it go, and inches a bit closer to Mark's leg. "Thanks," he says.

Mark shrugs.

For a while they don't really talk: Mark works on his practice test and Eduardo lies curled up beside him.

Then Mark asks, out of the blue, "How'd you meet her?"

"At a party," sighs Eduardo, without having to ask who. "She gave me a blowjob in the bathroom and I asked her out."

"Highly romantic," says Mark. "How long did you date?"

"Eight months," says Eduardo. "My entire freshman year."

Mark nods thoughtfully. "And... was she bad from the beginning?"

"No," says Eduardo. "Well, yes. I'm not sure; I think she got worse as time went on, but she fucking terrified me from the start. But I don't know. I was really in love. And she'd always apologize, you know? And I wanted to make it work."

"Sean always apologized too," says Mark. "I remember the first time he fucked me—" He breaks off.

Eduardo looks over. Mark is twirling his pencil between his fingers, gazing down at the prep book. At last he takes a deep breath, and continues, "I'd been with him like a month. And I mean, I'd given him blowjobs and stuff. But he'd never actually fucked me? And then one night he did, and shit, it was so fucking painful. But then—" He swallows. "Then afterward he said he was so sorry, he hadn't meant to make me bleed, and next time he'd use lube. And he was like, 'You should have said something if it hurt.'" Make gives a hollow little laugh. "As if I hadn't been crying the whole fucking time."

Eduardo stares at him, horrified.

"But it felt good to hear him apologize," Mark says. "So I believed him." He glances at Eduardo. "He never did use lube."

"Jesus, Mark," mumbles Eduardo. "That's not even comparable to my— I mean, Christy didn't do anything like that to me, ever, Jesus, I..."

But Mark frowns at him. "You don't have to rape someone to fuck them up," he says.

"She never even _hurt_ me though," says Eduardo.

"Last night you said she physically abused you."

"Well yeah, I mean. Sometimes, yeah. But mainly she was just... I don't know. Really possessive." Eduardo closes his eyes and pulls the covers up to his chin. "She didn't like when I hung out with my friends because she felt like I was ignoring her. She'd get so fucking angry; it was really frightening. Eventually I just stopped seeing anyone but her; my friends weren't worth all the fighting, you know?"

Mark says nothing, and Eduardo goes on. "She also didn't like when I studied too much, because that meant I wasn't spending time with her, so my grades started slipping. And she was always, _always_ convinced that I was cheating on her. She'd check my phone and email multiple times per day. She slept over in my dorm every night. I didn't go back home for winter or spring break that year because she was convinced I'd, like, screw all the girls in Florida if I did. Finally at the end of the year she got it in her head that I'd fucked her best friend Alice. We had a huge, huge fight about it, and then we went to bed." He shudders a little, involuntarily. "Anyway, uh. That night I woke up and my blanket was on fire, and she was just... standing there. Just standing over my bed, watching. By the time I found a fire extinguisher in the hall, half the bed was in flames." 

"Shit," says Mark.

"Yeah. Anyway. That's when I broke up with her," Eduardo concludes. "I was genuinely afraid she would try to kill me or something, but she just screamed at me for a few minutes and left. The next day I filed for a restraining order and the judge granted it."

Eduardo glances at Mark, who's staring at him evenly. "I still have a scar on my arm," he adds. "From getting burned that night."

"Eduardo, she sounds fucking insane."

"She could be great sometimes," Eduardo feels the need to say. "Sometimes we'd go out on dates and she'd be so _nice_ , and charming, and it just felt like a normal relationship. And I'd think, _this is the real Christy. If I were a better boyfriend she'd always be like this._ " He shakes his head. "Even after we broke up, I missed her so much."

There's a moment of silence. "I think I miss Sean sometimes," says Mark then, very quietly.

Eduardo goes still.

"It's not that I miss anything specific, I just think of the fact that he's dead and feel— I don't know. I feel something." Mark shakes his head. "It's stupid."

"That's not stupid," says Eduardo. He sits up in bed. "Three years is a long time, Mark. It's a long time to know someone, to be dependent on them. I think it's natural to feel... you know. A sense of loss."

"Maybe," says Mark. He glances at Eduardo. "Do you still miss Christy?"

"No," says Eduardo.

"Good," Mark tells him. "You deserve better."

Eduardo nods, because Mark is right, he does. He knows, deep down, that he does.

"Wardo?" Mark says then, softly, and Eduardo looks over.

"What?"

"Nothing," says Mark. He looks confused. Then he blinks, and says, "I think I want to kiss you."

"Mark," says Eduardo, warningly, though suddenly his whole body feels like it's tingling.

"Not— not like I think I _have_ to, or anything. I just want to; it's different. I've never... wanted to before." Mark leans in a little, and touches Eduardo's cheek. "Do you?" he asks then.

Eduardo's heart is pounding. "You're asking if I want to kiss you?" he squeaks.

Mark nods. His eyes are so wide, so blue, and his lips are so—

"Yes," says Eduardo. "Jesus Christ, yes—"

And Mark kisses him: on the lips, very gently, no tongue, no nothing. 

They stare at each other after, and Mark smiles.

Then he kisses him again, and Eduardo kisses back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! :D i hope you enjoyed!!


	19. tuna sandwiches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoy this very short chapter lol. more to come soon!
> 
> also mark’s motivations/vision for facebook are pretty different here than they are in the movie, but the whole exclusivity thing didn’t really work in this context, so hopefully mark’s reasoning here makes sense! also it's gonna be called facebook from the start because there's no sean to suggest they drop the "the" lmaoo.

Mark makes lunch for them: tuna sandwiches with a side of twizzlers. He seems bouncy, almost giddy— so different than his normal stoic self.

"Remember the first time I kissed you, weeks ago, and you made me stop?" Mark asks, smiling from across the kitchen table, and Jesus, his dimples make Eduardo crazy.

"Yeah."

Mark nods. "This kiss was better," he says.

"This kiss was perfect," says Eduardo, softly.

Mark takes a bite of his sandwich. "Yes." He smiles again. "You're a good kisser, Wardo."

Eduardo blushes, and wants to look away, but he can't take his eyes off of Mark. He looks so _happy_ , so much better than he did even a week ago: his eyes are brighter, his face is fuller, there's color in his cheeks. 

And he's eating his sandwich at a normal pace, not bolting it down like someone who hasn't had a decent meal in days.

"I'm really glad you're here, Mark," Eduardo tells him.

Mark nods, chewing thoughtfully. "Yeah," is all he says, but there's a weight to the word that makes Eduardo feel warm.

They finish their sandwiches and Mark takes their plates to the kitchen.

"Come here," he says then, beckoning. "I want to show you something."

Eduardo follows him into the living room and they sit down on the couch, and Mark grabs the laptop from the coffee table. He sets it on his knees, but doesn't open it, just looks up at Eduardo. "I want to show you Facebook," he says with some degree of solemnity.

"Oh!"

"But first, I— it's basically a social networking site, where you can make a profile and add people as friends."

"Like MySpace?" asks Eduardo. "Or Friendster?"

"Sort of," says Mark, frowning. "But better. I mean, Friendster is dying. MySpace doesn't know what the fuck it's doing. I want something clean, something intuitive, that everyone can use. That everyone _will_ use." 

He opens the laptop then, presses a few keys and a page pops up: blue and white, with a space for a photo and a box for basic information. "This would be like a profile page," Mark says. "You'd have your pictures, your interests. But it's structured, see? No stupid auto-play music, no garish colors. Just a simple way to connect with whoever you want. Maybe it's somebody you just met at a party, maybe it's, whatever, a childhood friend or something."

"That's good," says Eduardo, a bit awed. "Mark, that's really good."

Mark nods. "In foster care," he says, glancing at Eduardo, "there were kids I'd meet, and then one of us would move placements and I'd never see them again."

"And with Facebook, you could reconnect," Eduardo supplies, softly.

"Ideally, yes," says Mark.

"That's brilliant," Eduardo tells him. He feels strangely exhilarated. He claps Mark on the back. "Mark, this is gonna be huge," he says. "I can feel it."

"I hope so," says Mark, smiling a little. Then he looks away. "But I'm gonna need some money," he says, "to rent the servers and get it online." There's a pause. "Like, a lot of money."

"How much?"

Mark bites his lip. "A thousand dollars?" he says, still not meeting Eduardo's eye.

Eduardo almost laughs. "Sure," he says immediately. "Mark, don't worry; that's nothing. I'd be happy to give it to you."

Mark exhales, maybe in relief. "And— and you can be CFO," he says. "We'll split the company, and you can handle, you know, the business end. If you're interested."

Eduardo nods enthusiastically. "No, that sounds great, yeah," he says. "I'd love to be involved."

"Good," says Mark. He smiles shyly at Eduardo, like he can't quite hide how pleased he is, and Eduardo's stomach flutters.

"Is it done now?" Eduardo asks. "Or— when's it going live?"

"It isn't done, no," says Mark. "But I hope to launch it before the end of the school year."

That gives them a month.

Eduardo grins. "Let's do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! like i said, more will be coming soon. :))


	20. frozen vegetables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: mention of blood

The next week passes quickly. Eduardo goes to class and does his homework and applies for internships. Mark codes, and studies for the GED, and codes some more.

They stay at home mostly, but sometimes they go out to eat, or go to the library, or go to the grocery store.

Saturday arrives, and ends up being one of the grocery store days, because they're running low on food, and besides, Eduardo thinks they could both benefit from getting out of the house.

They divide the shopping list— Mark's suggestion— and split up, each setting off in search of their designated items. 

Eduardo moves methodically through the supermarket, filling his basket with groceries until all he has left to get is frozen peas.

He turns down the frozen vegetable aisle, and lo and behold, there's Mark, talking to some man, and—

And something's wrong.

Mark is pressed up against the glass door of the refrigerated area, and the man is standing right in front of him, one hand around Mark's wrist and the other gripping his jaw so he can't look away.

"Hey!" yells Eduardo, dropping his shopping basket and sprinting down the aisle. "What the fuck! Leave him alone!"

He skids to a stop beside them and reaches out to yank the guy's hands off of Mark, but before he has a chance, the guy lets go voluntarily and takes a step back, holding up his arms in a display of innocence.

He doesn't look dangerous at all, or threatening; he just looks like... a guy. A normal guy, mid-forties maybe, Eduardo's height, a bit overweight, with a normal face and normal clothes and a cart full of normal fucking groceries.

But the way he'd been holding Mark, like he thought he fucking owned him—

"What's going on?" demands Eduardo, looking between Mark and the man.

Mark says nothing, just stares down at the floor and crosses his arms over his stomach, still leaning back against the glass.

The man, however, laughs. "Possessive of your merchandise, huh?" he says, with a wink.

"What?" asks Eduardo, glancing back at the basket of groceries he left at the other end of the aisle. "My merchandise?"

The man laughs again. "It's good to finally meet you, actually. I've missed him, you know. I heard about Sean, so I figured he must have found someone else, but I asked around and no one knew where he'd ended up. I'm an old regular, by the way," he says, holding out a hand. "Mitch."

And shit. This guy thinks Eduardo is Mark's pimp. This guy knew Sean, this guy used to pay to have sex with Mark, and this should not be happening, not in the fucking frozen vegetable aisle of the supermarket.

The guy gives up on the handshake, lowers his hand with a shrug. "A bit of advice," he says then, "the kid's got an attitude. You'll need to do a better job of keeping him in check; you should've heard how he was talking to me just now, no respect at all." There's a pause. "He's a good little whore deep down though, isn't he?" he adds, with another fucking wink. "Sure knows his way around a dick."

And that's when Eduardo punches him, square in the face, as hard as he can.

"Fuck!" cries the guy, clapping his hands to his bleeding nose as he falls back onto the linoleum. "Fuck you!" He staggers to his feet, but his knees buckle under him. "Fuck—"

Eduardo grabs Mark's arm, and they run: out of the supermarket, down the block, all the way to the apartment building.

***

"Why did you do that?" asks Mark, out of breath, as they get into the elevator.

"I don't know," pants Eduardo. "I've never punched anyone before, I just—" He shakes his head. "Jesus, he fucking deserved it. The way he talked about you! Like you weren't even there. Jesus Christ."

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open, and they step out into the hallway.

"He wasn't lying," says Mark, softly. "I _am_ a good whore. I do know my way around a dick."

"Mark, don't," says Eduardo, because he can tell the difference between Mark's genuine flirting and Mark's defense-mechanism flirting, and this is definitely the latter.

Mark crosses his arms. "Don't what?"

"Just—" Eduardo sighs. "You don't have to talk about it, okay? You don't have to talk about yourself like that. I don't give a fuck what he said."

Mark stares at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sort of nods. "Okay," he says.

"Okay," repeats Eduardo. He pats Mark's shoulder. "Come on."

But Mark doesn't move, just blinks up at Eduardo and says, with resolve, like it's something he's just decided: "I'm glad you punched him."

"It certainly felt good," admits Eduardo.

"It was badass," Mark says. And he smiles at Eduardo, and stands on his tiptoes, and kisses him.

***

"Honestly, he wasn't the worst," Mark mumbles that night, curled up by Eduardo in the dark.

"Who, that guy?"

"Mitch," says Mark, like it's a dirty word. "I mean, he was an asshole, but as long as he could call me names and I made a big show of, like, choking on his tiny fucking dick, he was pretty happy."

Eduardo snorts, and Mark snuggles closer. "Some of the other guys were, like, legitimately awful," he goes on, quietly.

Eduardo strokes his hair, trying not to imagine what Mark would consider _legitimately awful_.

"I wish you could punch _them_ ," Mark mutters.

Eduardo inhales deeply. "Shit, so do I," he says, perhaps more fiercely than he'd intended.

They lie there in silence for a while.

And then, suddenly, Mark sits up in bed. He touches Eduardo's face, and leans over, and kisses him for the second time that day— deeply this time, desperately. 

"Thank you," Mark says at last, lying back down.

Eduardo's not sure how to respond, not sure what he's being thanked for— the kiss? The punch?

But then Mark rests his head on Eduardo's chest, and says it again, "Thank you," gentle, and soft, and earnest.

And this time, somehow, it feels like something more, like something more than a _thank you_.

It feels like an _I love you_.

And Eduardo loves him too, loves him so fucking much, and—

Mark shifts a bit against him, and Eduardo takes his hand.

And together, they fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do half my chapters end in them falling asleep? yes. will this change anytime soon? probably not.
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoyed!!!


	21. testing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: implication of child neglect

It's a Saturday morning in late April, and Mark's about to take the GED.

"Are you nervous?" asks Eduardo. They're standing on the sidewalk outside the school where the test is being administered.

"No," says Mark. "The cab's waiting for you."

"He can wait," says Eduardo. "Don't be nervous," he adds.

"I said I'm not."

"You'll do fine."

"I _know_."

"Okay," says Eduardo, nodding. "Well. Break a leg."

"You don't say break a leg before a test."

Eduardo laughs, and pulls Mark into a hug. "Fine," he says. "Good luck."

"Thanks," mumbles Mark, wiggling impatiently in Eduardo's arms.

So Eduardo lets go, and Mark rolls his eyes, and waves goodbye. 

Then he turns, and walks onto the campus without looking back, and Eduardo feels so proud he could burst.

***

"So how was it?" asks Eduardo, seven hours later, in the cab on the way home.

"Fine."

"Perfect score?" Eduardo teases, nudging him playfully.

"Probably," says Mark, apparently dead serious.

Eduardo grins. "You know what?" he says, clapping Mark on the back. "We should celebrate. Let me take you out somewhere."

"Where?"

Eduardo thinks for a moment. He'd say drinks, except Mark's only nineteen. "I don't know, how about donuts?" he suggests.

"Alright," shrugs Mark, nonchalantly. But when Eduardo looks over, he's smiling.

***

Eduardo gets a maple bar and Mark gets a cake donut with sprinkles.

They sit down at one of the small plastic tables and Mark starts eating right away. "I like donuts," he says. "There was a donut place by my house when I was little. I'd always go and say I was hungry and then the lady who owned it would give me some for free." He takes another bite. "Then I got older and realized it was only a matter of time before she called social services, so I stopped."

"Was that when you lived with your mom?" Eduardo asks cautiously, unsticking the wax paper from his maple bar.

Mark nods. "Yeah. She was bad at remembering to buy food," he says, with a shrug. "Being high all the time kind of does that, I guess."

Eduardo bites his lip, and wonders if he'll ever stop learning things about Mark's past that make him sad.

Mark polishes off his donut in silence, then squints at Eduardo. "Stop feeling sorry for me and eat," he says. "And give me some more money. I'm gonna get a glazed one next."

***

Mark's eaten four donuts by the time Eduardo finishes his own. Eduardo licks some maple frosting off his thumb, and listens as Mark talks, about Facebook mostly, but also about some of the particularly puerile questions on the GED.

He moves his hands when he talks, Eduardo has noticed: precise, anxious little movements that Eduardo is transfixed by.

Mark is midway through explaining an idea he has for Facebook called "the wall" when Eduardo settles his hand on top of Mark's, stilling it. Mark breaks off.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," says Eduardo. "I just. I wanted to touch you."

"Oh," says Mark, as Eduardo squeezes his fingers. "Your hand is sticky."

Eduardo smiles, and Mark leans in. And they kiss.

***

They kiss again in the cab, and in the elevator, and in the entryway of Eduardo's apartment.

"Was that a date?" Mark asks, breathless, between kisses.

"I think so," says Eduardo, and he kisses him again, and again, and again, all the way to the couch, where they collapse, Eduardo on top of Mark, and keep kissing. Eduardo pulls away briefly and regards Mark's face, and Jesus, he's gorgeous: his cheeks flushed, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted, like he's waiting for more.

So Eduardo presses his hands to Mark's chest and his lips to his neck, lightly at first, then harder.

And Mark shudders a little under him, and says, "Wait."

Eduardo stops, sits up. "Fuck, Mark, I'm sorry," he gasps. "I shouldn't—"

"No, it's fine," says Mark. "It's just." He looks uncertain. "We can't have sex."

Eduardo stares at him for a moment, then takes a deep breath. "Mark," he says, "we're not gonna do anything you don't want to. Okay? Ever. I promise. We were just kissing; we weren't—"

"But what if I do want to?" Mark cuts in, abruptly. He sounds almost defiant.

"If— Wait." Eduardo frowns. "You _want_ to?"

Mark shrugs, sits up a bit straighter. "Yeah," he says. "Sometimes, yeah, I want to. Just now, I wanted to."

Eduardo's mind is reeling. "Mark—"

"But we can't," Mark says firmly, staring down at his fingers. "Because I have to get tested first. For STDs."

Eduardo blinks. "You think you have an STD?"

"I don't know, but statistically speaking, yes, I probably do." Mark glances up for a second, then back down at his hands. "I've been regularly having sex with strangers for the past three years; the chances I haven't caught anything..." He shrugs.

Eduardo sits there in silence, thinking. For some reason it hadn't really crossed his mind, the reality of Mark most likely having an STD. Which was naïve, he realizes now, but he doesn't like to think about Mark's past sexual encounters if he can help it, and— 

"You didn't use condoms?" he blurts out. He regrets it immediately, even before Mark looks up with an expression equal parts hurt and furious.

"I did," he says. "Wardo, I swear, I always tried to make them, and they usually did, but sometimes they didn't want to, and I really needed the money, and— I mean, sometimes it was fucking freezing and Sean wouldn't let me come home unless I'd made enough, and—"

"Mark, hey, it's okay," says Eduardo, softly, hating himself. "I didn't mean that; I wasn't blaming you—"

"It wasn't my choice," Mark says, his brow furrowed.

"I know, I'm sorry. C'mere," Eduardo whispers, and Mark leans into him, still scowling. Eduardo wraps his arms around Mark's back. "Have you ever been tested before?" he asks gently.

"No," says Mark. "I could never save enough money."

"And Sean didn't..."

Mark scoffs, and buries his face in Eduardo's shoulder. "You think Sean gave a fuck about my sexual health?" he asks.

Eduardo sighs, marveling a little as his hatred for Sean reaches new depths.

"I don't really give a fuck either, to be honest," Mark goes on quietly, his voice slightly muffled as he talks into Eduardo's shirt. "I'd rather just not know. But I don't want to, like, infect you, so."

Eduardo rubs his back. "Okay," he says. "It's okay. We'll get you tested, don't worry."

"I don't have insurance."

"I'll pay out-of-pocket; it's fine," says Eduardo.

There's a pause, then Mark lifts his face. "What if I have something?" he asks, eyes wide, mouth tight, obviously terrified but trying not to show it.

"Then we'll get you treated."

"What if it's untreatable?"

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Eduardo says. Mark gazes up at him, and Eduardo strokes his cheek. "It's gonna be alright."

And Mark nods, like he trusts him, and Eduardo holds him tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know the term STI is more accurate than STD but i used STD because this is 2004 and i don't think the term STI had gained traction yet? anyway, i hope you enjoyed! thank you so much for reading. :)


	22. rubik's cube

Eduardo gets rejected from three New York internships in the next two days, and staring at the third rejection email, he makes a decision: He's going to stay in Cambridge for the summer, maybe take some summer courses, maybe just relax and help Mark with Facebook. He'll get an internship after graduation. His father will understand. Probably. Hopefully.

He tells this all to Mark, who's lying on the couch, his dilapidated Rubik's cube in his hands.

Mark shrugs at the news. "Okay."

"I'm gonna call my father," says Eduardo, making up his mind.

"That sounds like a stupid idea."

"I have to tell him."

"Why? You're an adult," says Mark, twisting the pieces of the Rubik's cube without even looking down. "You don't need his permission."

"I know, but I need his—" Eduardo breaks off. His approval, he thinks. The only thing he's wanted from his father his whole life. "I just need to call him," he says.

"You really don't."

"I haven't answered his calls for weeks; I owe it to him to..." Eduardo sighs. "I'll be in the bedroom," he says.

"Okay."

"Wish me luck."

Mark grunts.

Eduardo slips into the bedroom, closes the door, and sits down at his desk.

He takes a deep breath. All he has to do is tell his father his plan and hang up. _I'm not going to do an internship this summer_ , he thinks. _I'm going to stay at Harvard and take some classes, strengthen my resumé. I know you want me to go to New York and get experience, but—_

No, no excuses, he decides. Excuses will give his father something to argue with. He needs to seem confident. He _is_ confident. He takes another breath, and dials his father.

He answers on the first ring. "What is wrong with you?" he asks in Portuguese, without even saying hello.

And shit, Eduardo realizes, this was a mistake, of course this was a mistake—

"You go off to college and decide to ignore your family and throw away your future?"

"Dad, I'm not—"

"Not what?"

"I'm not throwing away my future," mumbles Eduardo.

"Oh, then you're calling to tell me you've gotten an internship for the summer, yes?"

Eduardo says nothing.

"Do you think a job is just going to drop into your lap someday?" demands his father. "Do you think you can be successful without doing any work?"

"No."

"Then I wonder why you're happy to be so lazy all the time, hm?"

"I'm not lazy," Eduardo protests weakly. "Dad, I swear, I've been applying to internships, they just keep saying there were stronger applicants—"

"And you're content with that?"

"What?"

His father scoffs. "Of course you are. You've always been satisfied with being second-rate, Eduardo."

Eduardo feels tears forming in his eyes. He wipes them away.

"You don't have anything to say for yourself?" asks his father.

Eduardo inhales shakily, and lets out a sob. "I'm sorry," he whispers, and fuck, now he's crying. "I'm sorry I'm such a fucking disappointment and I can never do anything right; is that what you want to hear?" he says through tears, unsure who he hates more, his father or himself.

"Eduardo, get a grip," his father says brusquely. "Stop crying like a girl."

But Eduardo can't stop. "Dad, please—" he sobs into the phone. "Please."

"You're pathetic," says his father.

"I know," says Eduardo, softly, "I'm sorry," but the line's already dead.

***

Eduardo's not sure how long he sits at his desk, head buried in his arms and cell phone gripped in his hand, but it feels like a long time.

Then the door opens, and he hears Mark flop down on the bed. "Hey."

"Hey," says Eduardo, without looking up.

"Are you just gonna cry in here all night?" asks Mark.

Eduardo doesn't answer.

"I told you you shouldn't call him," Mark goes on.

Eduardo makes a noise between a laugh and a sob. "Yeah, well. You were right. Were you listening at the door?"

"Of course," says Mark. "But you were speaking Portuguese."

"Oh yeah." Eduardo sniffs, and finally lifts his face.

Mark is sitting on the bed. He's still got the Rubik's cube in his hands, and he's playing with it idly, but his eyes are trained on Eduardo. He's frowning. "Look, whatever he told you, it was bullshit," he says after a moment.

Eduardo glances away.

"I'm serious," says Mark.

"He said I'm pathetic. And lazy. And second-rate." Eduardo rests his forehead on the edge of the desk. "Fuck."

"Okay, well, you aren't any of those things, so who gives a shit?"

Eduardo shrugs.

"Wardo," says Mark, sternly. "You know you aren't any of those things, right?"

"Then why can't I get an internship?" mutters Eduardo, staring down at his knees.

"'Cause the people running these investment firms are idiots? I don't know." 

"They're not idiots," Eduardo says. "I got some C's my freshman year."

"Wasn't that because of Christy?"

"Yes, but they don't know or care why; all they see is my shitty GPA." Eduardo sighs. "And I don't have very many extracurriculars." He sits up and rubs his forehead tiredly. "See? My father's right, I _am_ lazy."

The Rubik's cube goes still in Mark's hands, and he stares at Eduardo. "You're not," he says. "And you're not pathetic either, or whatever the fuck else he said. But he's been calling you this shit your whole life, hasn't he?" he continues in a low voice. "And now you just... believe him, whatever he says, even if it's bullshit."

Eduardo shifts uncomfortably in his desk chair, shrugging. "No," he says, "I—"

But Eduardo doesn't know how to explain to Mark that as much as he hates his father, as much as he wants to disagree with him, he can't deny that usually he's right, and—

And Jesus fucking Christ, suddenly he's crying again.

"Wardo," says Mark. He sets down the Rubik's cube, gets out of bed, and walks over to the desk. "Get up," he says. 

Eduardo doesn't move, and Mark flicks him on the arm. "Come on. I'm serious."

So Eduardo stands up, not meeting Mark's eye.

"Look at me," says Mark.

And reluctantly, Eduardo does, and Mark stares back, frowning slightly, eyes ablaze. "Wardo, fuck, you're the best person I've ever known," he says. "And your dickhead father can go fuck himself. And I'm going to kiss you now." He pauses. "Okay?"

And Eduardo lets out a sob, and sniffs, and nods. 

Mark kisses him.

"I'm sorry for— for crying on you," Eduardo says against his lips.

"Shut up," snaps Mark. He wipes Eduardo's tears with the sleeve of his hoodie, first his left cheek, then his right, kissing him all the while.

And at some point Eduardo stops crying, and kisses Mark back.

***

They lie together in bed later that night, side by side, Mark tucked against Eduardo's body, asleep. But Eduardo can't sleep, can't stop thinking about _you're the best person I've ever known_ and _your father can go fuck himself_ , and—

He touches Mark gently, and Mark stirs beside him.

"Mark," says Eduardo.

"Huh?"

"I think you're right."

"I'm always right."

"I mean I think you're right about my father. I don't think he knows what he's talking about."

"Of course he doesn't," yawns Mark. "Go to sleep, Wardo."

Eduardo laughs softly, and kisses Mark's hair. "Goodnight," he says.

Mark hums in response.

And lying there in bed, with Mark right beside him, Eduardo decides, once and for all, that is father is wrong: Wrong about Eduardo, wrong about everything, _wrong_.

And it feels good, he thinks. It feels right.

He pulls Mark closer in the darkness, and falls asleep smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading; i hope you enjoyed! feel free to leave a comment; they make my day! talk to you soon :)


	23. ice cream

They go to get Mark tested for STDs on a chilly Wednesday morning two days later.

Eduardo pays for the visit and the woman behind the counter gives Mark a clipboard with a form to fill out.

"Can I look?" asks Eduardo, seated beside Mark in the waiting room chairs.

"I don't care," shrugs Mark.

So Eduardo peers over at the clipboard and watches as Mark fills in his first and last name, his date of birth, and his cell phone number.

"Your birthday's May 14th?" asks Eduardo.

Mark nods disinterestedly.

"Mark, that's in two weeks! Were you gonna tell me, or—?"

"It's not a big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal!"

"It's really not," Mark says. He circles a few responses on the form, then stops and scoffs. 

"What?" asks Eduardo.

Mark taps one of the questions with his pen.

 _How many people have you had sex with in the last six months?_ Eduardo reads over his shoulder. Mark bites his lip and circles _More than 10_ , the highest option.

"And the next one," says Mark. He sets down the pen on the clipboard, crosses his arms. "Fuck this."

 _How many people have you had sex with in your lifetime,_ it asks: _0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 10, 15, 25, 50, 100, More than 100._

"Mark, it's okay. Hey," Eduardo says quietly. He touches Mark's knee. "Just be honest."

Mark glares down at the paper for a while. Then he picks the pen back up, sets his jaw, and circles _More than 100_.

The next few questions are about condom use and types of sex, and Mark quickly checks the appropriate boxes.

Then: " _Have you ever experienced domestic violence?_ " Mark reads aloud, under his breath. "Why is that even relevant?"

"You should put yes," Eduardo tells him gently.

"I know," says Mark. "I was just—" He sighs hotly, then checks _Yes_ and moves on.

He puts _No_ for everything about drug use, to Eduardo's— surprise? Relief? He's glad about it, anyway. And the rest of the questionnaire is relatively mundane, asking about allergies and medications and birth control.

And then comes question #20: 

_Have you ever had sex in exchange for money?_

And Eduardo watches as Mark hesitates for a second, but only a second, before checking the box next to _Yes._

Mark brings the completed questionnaire to the front desk and wordlessly returns to his seat.

Eduardo touches his arm.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

Mark looks at him. "I'm fine," he says.

And they wait.

***

It's not long before a lady comes to the door and calls Mark's name. Mark follows her out of the room and Eduardo is left in the lobby, alone with his thoughts.

He's been researching STDs over the past few days— which ones are treatable, which ones are not, the factors that increase your chances of contracting one.

It makes him so fucking angry to think of Mark being put at risk against his will, again and again, night after night, for years. It makes him angry to imagine Mark being unable to negotiate the use of a condom because he was desperate, because he was hungry or cold or afraid for his life. It makes him angry to know that it wasn't Mark's fault, that none of it was Mark's fault, but he could be living with the consequences for the rest of his life.

Eduardo runs his hands through his hair, and sighs, and waits for Mark. 

***

It's a half hour before Mark returns to the lobby.

"How'd it go?" asks Eduardo, jumping up from his chair.

"Fine," says Mark. "She asked me questions and took my blood and I peed in a cup. It was fine."

"What kind of questions?"

"Way too many."

"Was she nice?"

"She was fine. They tested me for everything, to be safe."

Eduardo pats Mark's back and they leave the building. It's a beautiful day outside, crisp and bright.

"Let's get ice cream," says Eduardo. "My mom always took me to get ice cream after a doctor's appointment."

"Okay," shrugs Mark.

There's an ice cream place not far from Eduardo's apartment, so they set off in the direction of home.

"That's the first time you've mentioned your mom," says Mark after a while.

"What?"

"Just now, when you said your mom took you to get ice cream. You've never mentioned her before."

"Oh." Eduardo frowns.

"Is she around?" 

"She lives in Florida."

"With your dad?"

Eduardo nods.

"Is she a dick like he is?"

"No," says Eduardo. "No, she's nothing like my father. We're very close, actually."

Mark glances over at him. He looks skeptical.

Eduardo sighs. "I mean, it's complicated," he says. "Lately I haven't been talking to her because I've been ignoring my father and if I called my mom, I know he'd end up on the line and— And she always tries to defend me to him, and that never ends well for her, so I'd rather just..." He kicks at a rock on the ground, sends it skittering across the sidewalk. His chest feels tight, heavy. "The less I interact with my family, the better, I guess. You know?"

Mark shrugs.

They walk in silence for a while, their arms occasionally brushing. Then Mark's hand finds Eduardo's.

Eduardo glances ever, and Mark's eyes are soft, and his hand is warm. And Eduardo's chest lightens, just a bit.

***

Mark gets a scoop of bubblegum-flavored ice cream, and Eduardo gets mint chocolate chip.

They eat on a bench outside the ice cream shop, side by side in the brisk morning air.

"They said they'll call me in three days if any of the results come back positive," says Mark, staring at a spoonful of glistening pink ice cream.

Eduardo nods, though he'd prefer not to think about that eventuality.

"The doctor was worried," says Mark. "The one who took my sexual history or whatever. She asked if I was in a safe situation."

"What'd you say?"

"I said I wasn't before but now I am," Mark says with a shrug. He takes a bite of ice cream.

Eduardo stares at him. It's such a simple statement, but he feels like his heart could explode. "I— I'm glad you feel safe now," he says quietly, after a moment.

Mark looks over, and smiles a little. "Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more to come soon; i originally wrote like 1.6k for this chapter, then i split it in half. comments and kudos are always appreciated! thanks very much for reading. :)


	24. nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: mentions of abuse

Eduardo wakes up that night to Mark moving beside him, jostling him slightly as he sits up in bed.  


He doesn't think much of it at first, just figures he's gonna get some water from his nightstand or something, but then minutes pass, and Mark doesn't lie back down.

"Hey Mark?" Eduardo says softly. "What's up?"

Mark starts. "Shit."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," says Mark. "I just had a nightmare, it's nothing."

Eduardo reaches over and turns on the lamp on his side of the bed. Mark looks over blearily.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asks Eduardo, also sitting up.

Mark just shrugs.

"Was it about Sean?" Eduardo tries.

"No," says Mark. "It was about my mom getting beaten up."

Eduardo frowns. "Oh, was— was your dad, like... abusive, or...?" he asks tentatively.

"My dad was nonexistent. But my mom had boyfriends."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Mark sighs. "Did you know that people who've witnessed a parent being abused are more likely to seek out that dynamic in their own relationships?" he states then, quite casually.

Eduardo thinks of Christy, and he thinks of his father, and his mom, and his stomach flips uncomfortably. "No, I didn't know that," he says.

"It makes me feel stupid," Mark goes on. "To be a statistic." And Eduardo knows that he's thinking of Sean.

"Well I guess I'm a statistic too then," says Eduardo, running his fingers down Mark's back. "If it makes you feel better."

"Your dad abuses your mom?" Mark asks bluntly, glancing over.

"Not— physically," says Eduardo, which is mostly true.

Mark squints at him, and Eduardo looks away. They sit there in silence for a while.

Then Eduardo asks, quietly, "How often do you get nightmares?"

There's a pause. "Often."

"Like, every night?"

"More or less," shrugs Mark.

"Shit," says Eduardo, feeling somewhat panicked at having been so oblivious, at the thought of Mark suffering through silent nightmares every fucking night, "you always seem so sound asleep, I never even— Jesus, why don't you wake me up?"

"Why would I?"

"Because nightmares are fucking scary!" cries Eduardo. "And it helps to talk them through!"

He realizes, a second too late, that he's practically yelling. 

Mark flinches a little, looks away. "I've gotten nightmares my whole life," he mutters. "I've never talked about them with anyone."

And Mark is right there, just inches from Eduardo, but he feels so impossibly far away.

"Maybe you never had anyone to talk to before," Eduardo says quietly.

"I didn't," says Mark.

"But now you do."

Mark looks over at him, his face blank. Then he lowers his gaze and gives a halting sort of nod.

"Can I hug you?" asks Eduardo.

And Mark nods again, more firmly this time.

So Eduardo hugs him, and Mark rests his head on his shoulder, and they stay like that for a long, long time.

***

Eduardo has Microeconomics the next morning, so he wakes up early.

He silences his alarm as soon as it goes off and glances at Mark, who's stirring beside him.

"Keep sleeping," he says, stroking Mark's cheek. "You had a rough night. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Mark mumbles something and turns back over in bed, and Eduardo slips out of the room.

***

Mark is sitting on the couch when Eduardo gets home from class, working on Facebook.

"I think we're on track to launch during finals week," he announces without looking up.

"That's great!" says Eduardo, kicking off his shoes.

"Yeah," says Mark. "And I've made a decision; I'm gonna limit it to Harvard initially, let it gain traction there before expanding. I think the built-in social structure of college will allow it to really take hold, like— people will see their friends are joining, and they'll want to join. And they'll start wanting their friends _outside_ of Harvard to be able to join, and then—"

"Then we'll expand," says Eduardo.

"Exactly."

Eduardo nods. "That sounds perfect," he tells Mark.

And Mark gives a satisfied nod.

***

They stay up late that night, Eduardo reading about meteorology and Mark on the laptop, coding. It's 2 AM by the time they fall into bed together, and Eduardo is asleep instantaneously.

***

"Wardo," comes Mark's voice.

Eduardo stirs under the sheets. "Huh?" he says groggily.

"Wardo, I had a dream," Mark is saying.

Eduardo rubs his eyes and blinks in the darkness. "A dream?"

"Yes."

"Oh," mumbles Wardo, rolling over. "Good."

"I mean a bad dream."

"Huh?"

"For God's sake," snaps Mark. "You tell me to wake you up when I have a nightmare and then when I actually do it you're fucking useless."

Eduardo sits bolt upright at that. "Shit, I'm sorry, I— You had a nightmare?" he says.

"Yes."

"And you— you want to talk about it?"

"I was with Sean," says Mark, without any preamble. He's still lying down, and Eduardo can just barely make out his silhouette in the dark. "And it wasn't like, a flashback. It wasn't something that ever actually happened. But I was naked, and he was about to fuck me, but then he stopped and told me to get the fuck out of his bed." He's speaking very quickly, with no expression in his voice. "He said I was a filthy slut and probably crawling with diseases. Then he kicked me out of the house and I wandered around naked for a while, freezing my ass off. Then I woke up," he concludes, just as tonelessly as he'd begun.

"Shit, Mark," says Eduardo, frowning. "That sounds terrible; it— You know it's not true, right?"

"Yes, I know, I told you it was just a dream."

"No, I mean what he said to you," Eduardo murmurs, staring down at Mark's curled-up form in the darkness. "It's not true."

"Oh, that I'm a filthy slut who deserves to be kicked out?" Mark scoffs. "Of course it's true."

" _Mark_ —"

"But you really don't believe it, do you?" Mark adds.

"Jesus, Mark, of course not."

"I didn't think you did," says Mark. "I just. I wanted to be sure. That's why I woke you up."

Eduardo lies back down, buries his face in Mark's neck. "Mark," he says.

Mark shifts a little. "You know, I kept track at first," he says then, quietly. "Of how many guys I'd been fucked by. I stopped after a couple months, when I got to 50, because I realized I didn't want to know anymore. But I'm sure you can extrapolate." He swallows. "Doesn't it bother you?"

"It bothers me that it wasn't always your choice," says Eduardo. "It bothers me that you got hurt, and—"

"I meant the number," says Mark. "Does the number bother you."

"No," says Eduardo. "No, Mark—"

"And what if I have an STD?" Mark cuts in. "Or more than one? Then what?"

Eduardo touches Mark's chest, feels his heart racing beneath his hand. "Mark," he whispers. "I wouldn't care."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," says Eduardo, into Mark's shoulder. "Mark. I love you; you know that, right?"

He feels Mark nod. "I know," Mark says. And then, softly: "I love you too."

They kiss in the dark, their arms around each other and their legs tangled together, and Eduardo tries not to cry. 

He doesn't quite manage it.

And Mark laughs gently, and kisses his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! :)) see you next time


	25. showers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i also updated yesterday if you missed it!
> 
>  **warning:** mention of childhood sexual abuse

Saturday dawns rainy.

They're eating breakfast when Mark gets a call from an unknown number, and Eduardo's stomach flips.

Mark stares down at his phone, frozen.

"Is that— do you think it's the doctor?" Eduardo whispers.

"How would I know?" says Mark, a note of panic in his voice.

He lets it ring a few more times.

Then he snatches it up and flips it open. "Hello?" he says.

Eduardo strains to hear what the person on the other end of the line is saying, but he can't. Mark says "okay" a lot, and "yes," and "thank you," but nothing that lets Eduardo know who he's talking to or what they're discussing.

Finally Mark hangs up and sets the phone down on the table by his plate of eggs.

"I have gonorrhea and chlamydia," he says flatly.

Which— shit, okay, Eduardo thinks to himself, okay, that's alright. Those are both treatable, easily, with a week-long course of antibiotics. He exhales deeply. "That's— they're sure that's all?" he asks, his heart pounding. "Everything else was negative? No HIV or—"

"Nothing else," says Mark, staring down.

"Mark, that's good news!" says Eduardo.

Mark nods. "I have a follow-up appointment on Monday to get the antibiotic prescription."

"And then in a week you'll be fine," says Eduardo, learning forward on his elbows.

Mark shrugs. He seems unhappy.

"Hey, are you okay?" Eduardo asks quietly. "I know it can't be fun to have tested positive for something, but they're completely treatable, so—"

"I'm gonna take a shower."

"Wait—"

"I'm gonna take a shower," Mark repeats, standing up. And he leaves the table and walks straight for the bathroom, without even stopping to get a towel.

Eduardo frowns, but lets him go.

***

Eduardo finishes his eggs and heads to the living room, where he sits on the couch and waits.

After forty-five minutes he knocks on the bathroom door. "Are you alright, Mark?" he calls.

"Yes," comes Mark's voice.

"Do you want me to bring you a towel or anything?"

"No," says Mark, so Eduardo leaves him alone.

It's another half hour before Mark emerges from the bathroom, dripping wet and dressed in the same clothes as earlier, a t-shirt and a pair of Eduardo's sweatpants.

Silently, he joins Eduardo on the couch.

"You sure you don't need a towel?" asks Eduardo, pinching one of Mark's waterlogged curls.

"I'm fine," says Mark. He wipes some water off his face with the hem of his shirt, and glances at Eduardo. "Have you ever had an STD?" he asks then.

Eduardo shakes his head.

"Ever had unprotected sex?"

"No."

"I bet you've also never had sex in an alley with some guy holding a knife to your throat."

Eduardo swallows. "No," he says softly. "I haven't."

"You're missing out," Mark deadpans.

Eduardo looks at him sadly, places a hand on his leg.

Mark stiffens at the contact. "You shouldn't touch me," he mumbles.

Eduardo lifts his hand. "You don't want me to?"

"No," says Mark, and Eduardo is pretty sure he flushes a little. "I mean, yes. I mean— _you_ shouldn't want to; I'm— I have fucking gonorrhea and chlamydia, fuck." He crosses his arms and stares straight ahead.

"Mark, you have a couple STDs, not leprosy." Eduardo pauses, then settles his hand once again on Mark's leg, close to his knee. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," says Mark, still flushed.

"Okay," Eduardo says, rubbing circles on Mark's knee with his thumb. "Can— can I do more?"

"Like what, touch my dick?" asks Mark, frowning.

Now it's Eduardo's turn to flush. "No," he says. "Just your— I mean— Only if you want me to?" he concludes, glancing away, his hand still on Mark's leg.

Mark nods and shrugs at the same time. "Yeah. Okay," he says. "But I don't know why it turns you on to find out I've got sexually-transmitted diseases."

"It doesn't," says Eduardo. " _You_ turn me on, all the fucking time. Jesus." He kisses Mark's neck, moves his hand closer to Mark's crotch. "This is fine?" he asks.

"Fuck. Yeah, it's— yes."

Eduardo rubs his inner thigh, strokes it, and Mark stares at him with wide eyes, breathing shallowly.

Eduardo can see the outline of Mark's hardening dick through his sweatpants, and he touches it. 

Mark squirms a little. "That— feels good," he says, sounding almost confused.

Eduardo smiles, and kisses him again, on the lips this time, palming him slowly. Then he creeps the tips of his fingers under the waistband of Mark's pants.

"Can I—" he says.

Mark doesn't answer.

Eduardo withdraws his hand. "Mark?"

"No," says Mark, his voice impossibly small. "I don't—"

"Hey, that's okay," Eduardo says quickly, sitting up straighter. "We don't have to do anything else. Don't worry."

Mark crosses his legs so his crotch is covered and folds his hands in his lap. He looks mortified.

"Mark, it's okay," says Eduardo, frowning. "It's fine."

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Mark says stiffly. "I— I think I need to go shower."

Eduardo decides not to point out that Mark just finished showering five minutes ago. "Okay," he says hesitantly. Then: "Mark, I'm sorry if I—"

"It's not you," says Mark, "I swear." And he stands up, and heads to the bathroom, and closes the door.

Eduardo listens as the water turns on. Then he leans back in the couch and sighs.

***

Mark only showers for ten minutes this time, and Eduardo is waiting for him with a towel when he gets out.

Mark takes the towel and sits down gingerly on the couch, beside Eduardo. He rubs at his face and hair, then sets the towel in his lap.

"I'm sorry," he says then, not meeting Eduardo's eye.

"Hey. There's nothing to apologize for," Eduardo says.

"It felt really good." Mark stares down at the towel. "No one's ever... touched me like that." He takes a deep breath.

Eduardo waits.

"But then when you—" Mark continues after a moment. "Look, this is stupid, but my foster dad used to jerk me off sometimes and all of a sudden I thought of that and it psyched me out."

"That's not stupid," says Eduardo gently. "That's fucking traumatic."

"He's the only person who ever jerked me off before. Other than me, obviously."

Eduardo nods.

"He was really rough. It always hurt."

Eduardo closes his eyes. He wishes that Mark wouldn't sound so impassive when he recounts the horrific things that have happened to him; he wishes he would sound angry, because he _should_ be angry, he deserves to be angry. Jesus, he deserves to be fucking furious.

Eduardo reaches over and takes Mark's hand. "I'm sorry," he says.

Mark shrugs. "I know you wouldn't make it hurt, I just."

"I get it. I'm glad you told me no."

"I'm glad you listened," mutters Mark, which sort of makes Eduardo tear up.

"Mark," he chokes out. "Jesus, of course I listened; I would never—"

Mark links arms with him and leans closer, so Eduardo can feel his wet hair against his shirt. "I know. And I want you to do it someday," Mark says. "All the way. Just not now."

Eduardo feels himself blushing. "Oh. Yeah, I— sure," he says, somewhat flustered. "Just... yeah, say the word."

And he smiles down at Mark, and Mark smirks back, and they kiss.

"I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! :) comments always make my day.


	26. billy

On Monday they go back to the doctor. Mark gets an injection of one antibiotic and he's given a prescription for another, which they pick up at Walgreens.

"So," Eduardo tells Mark once they're back home. Mark has already immersed himself in coding. "Bill Gates is giving some kind of talk on campus tonight."

Mark looks up from the laptop. "Bill Gates?"

"Yeah, he, uh, started Microsoft?"

"I know who fucking Bill Gates is," says Mark. "He's coming to Harvard?"

"Yeah, he's giving a presentation about how he got his start or something? It's open to anyone."

Mark blinks. "Can we go?" he asks.

"Yeah, that's why I brought it up," laughs Eduardo. "I thought it'd be up your alley."

Mark nods. "Shit," he says, sounding awestruck. "Bill Gates."

Eduardo smiles.

***

The lecture hall is packed with people. Bill Gates talks about things that would probably be very interesting to someone who knew anything about computers, but Eduardo is utterly lost. He finds himself mostly just watching Mark's face the whole time, as Mark stares ahead raptly, drinking in every word.

The presentation lasts an hour, and they're exiting the lecture hall en masse when Eduardo feels a hand on his back. He turns around to see Billy Olson, from his multivariable calculus class freshman year. "Eduardo!" says Billy. "Hey!" He's grinning broadly.

Eduardo pauses at the foot of the lecture hall steps, and Mark comes to a stop beside him.

"Billy," says Eduardo, smiling back. "Yeah, hey man, what's up?"

"Nothing much, you? Long time no see."

"Yeah, I—" Eduardo shrugs. "Yeah. Sorry."

Billy seems unperturbed. "We should catch up!" he says. "Go out for drinks or something! Actually, hey— I'm in the Phoenix Club now; you know the Phoenix?"

Eduardo nods.

"Yeah, and we're throwing like a huge end-of-year party next week; you should come!" Billy claps him on the shoulder.

Eduardo's never been to a final club party, but he's heard tell of them. "I— are you sure?" he asks. "You're allowed to invite me?"

"Of course, man!" says Billy. He pauses. "Hey, are you still with that girl?"

"What?"

"Christine or whatever?"

"Oh, Christy." Eduardo shudders involuntarily. "No. Jesus, no, we broke up."

"Good," says Billy. "She was a real bitch."

"Yeah," agrees Eduardo. There's a moment of awkward silence.

Then Billy punches him good-naturedly in the arm. "So yeah, I'll text you or something, okay? I'm pretty sure I still have your number. And—" He turns to Mark. "Hi, by the way," he says, "I'm Billy; I'm an old friend of Eduardo's." He holds out a hand.

Mark neither shakes it nor responds.

"Uh, Billy, this is my friend Mark," says Eduardo.

Billy nods. "Nice to meet you, Mark," he says graciously, lowering his hand. "What year are you?"

"Sophomore," says Mark, without missing a beat.

"Cool, what do you study?"

"Computer science."

"Right on, right on. I'm a theater major," says Billy.

Mark says nothing.

"Ready for finals?" asks Billy.

"Yes," Mark says tersely.

Billy glances at Eduardo, who offers a shrug which he hopes conveys _don't take it personally_.

"Okay, um. Cool," says Billy. "Well, I'll see you around, Eduardo. And hey, maybe you too, Mark." He smiles.

"Yeah, it was great seeing you again," Eduardo tells him.

Billy nods. "It really was. I'll text you!" And he leaves with a jaunty backward wave.

***

"So you're a sophomore now, huh?" Eduardo asks wryly, as soon as Billy's out of earshot.

Mark wheels around to face him. "Who was that?" he demands.

"Billy Olson," says Eduardo. "We were in calculus together freshman year."

"Did you guys used to fuck or something?"

"No, Jesus, Mark." Eduardo frowns. "He was just a friend."

"He kept touching you."

"What do you mean?" asks Eduardo, trying to remember if Billy had done anything other than clap him on the shoulder a few times.

"He invited you to a party," Mark goes on, obviously annoyed. "What's the Phoenix Club?"

"It's one of the final clubs at Harvard; they're like… fraternities on steroids, I guess you could say."

"Is he always like that?"

"Like what?"

Mark wrinkles his nose. "Friendly."

"Yeah," says Eduardo, smiling a little. "He is. He's a friendly guy."

"I don't like him," says Mark.

"Yeah, I kinda got that." Eduardo pushes a curl behind Mark's ear and resists the urge to kiss his pout. "Mark," he says. "Listen. Billy's a nice person. He was a good friend. He told me to dump Christy and I stopped talking to him for that. I've felt bad about it for a long time."

"Oh," Mark says. He's quiet for a moment, and when he looks up, his expression is softer. "So are you gonna go to his party?"

"Probably," says Eduardo, with a shrug. "Do you want to go too? I can ask."

"That depends, will there be rampant sex and drugs?"

"Uh. I think that'd be a safe bet, yeah."

"Then no," says Mark, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. "Not really my thing." He shrugs. "Anyway," he says. "Bill Gates was cool, huh?"

And Eduardo puts an arm around him, and lets him ramble about Bill Gates, and together, they head off across campus.

***

They're lying in bed a few hours later, and Mark has his hand on Eduardo's chest, when suddenly:

"So in a week we can have sex," Mark says. "I'll be STD-free."

"Oh. Yeah," says Eduardo, as casually as he can, though the words send a thrill through his body. "If you want to."

"I do," says Mark. He drums his fingers lightly on Eduardo's sternum. "Have you had sex with guys before?" he asks then.

Eduardo coughs in surprise. "Uh. Yeah," he says, nodding into the darkness. "I have. Freshman year, yeah, before I met Christy."

"How many guys?"

"Two."

Mark traces unknown shapes on Eduardo's chest with his finger. "Were they good?"

"The first guy, not really. It was his first time. The second guy, um." Eduardo blushes. He's glad it's dark. "Yeah, I think he was quite experienced. So yeah, pretty good."

"I'm better," says Mark, his hand going still. It feels heavy on Eduardo's chest. "I guarantee you."

Eduardo's not sure what to say.

Mark slips his fingers under Eduardo's shirt and strokes his bare skin. "I can make you feel better than he did, I swear."

There's something in his tone, something forced and desperate, that makes Eduardo uneasy. Mark is upset, he can tell. Something is wrong. "Mark, why are you— acting like this?" he asks, shivering a little at Mark's touch.

Mark's fingers travel down, further, down Eduardo's stomach, over his underwear, and—

"You're hard," Mark says abruptly.

Eduardo shoves away his hand. "Mark."

"What?" says Mark. "I can help."

"Yeah, I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because, you— you're being weird; you're trying to prove something you don't have to prove."

Mark doesn't respond.

"I'll be right back," Eduardo tells him with a sigh. 

He throws off the covers, gets up, and heads to the bathroom, where he distractedly takes care of his boner.

Then he returns to bed.

***

They lie there in silence for what feels like a long time.

"Are you angry at me?" Mark asks at last.

"No," says Eduardo, quietly. "Of course not."

"I'm not trying to prove anything," says Mark. "I just— I feel like shit sometimes."

"Why?" asks Eduardo.

Mark exhales shortly. "Because. You're hot as fuck, Eduardo. And you're— you're nice, and you go to Harvard." He presses his forehead to Eduardo's shoulder. "You could have anyone you fucking wanted."

And Eduardo thinks he can see where this is going, but he keeps quiet, just wraps an arm around Mark and listens.

"And then there's me," says Mark. "And I'm, like, an asshole, and a shitty person, and I dropped out of high school to become a prostitute, and the only things I'm good at are coding and fucking." He takes a deep breath. "And you won't even let me jerk you off," he whispers.

Eduardo cards his fingers through Mark's hair. "Mark, you're good at so many things," he says. "And you're so smart, and such a good friend. And nothing you've done, nothing that's happened to you, none of that makes you a shitty person. You're an incredible person. You're my favorite person on earth." He pauses, and ghosts the back of his thumb over Mark's cheek. "And I promise you can jerk me off someday, and I'm sure it'll be the best handjob of my life. Okay? But I'd rather it be sometime when you don't feel like shit about yourself."

Mark clears his throat, curls up closer to Eduardo. "Okay," he says thickly.

"Okay," Eduardo repeats.

"Thank you," says Mark. "For—" He breaks off, but Eduardo understands.

"You're welcome," he says, his fingers buried in Mark's hair.

And Mark nods.

And cuddled together, they fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoyed; let me know your thoughts! :)


	27. pancakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: discussion of some past, like, degrading and pretty much forced sex that happened when mark was underage

Eduardo doesn't have class the next morning, so they both sleep in.

Eduardo wakes up before Mark, but the bed is so comfortable, and Mark is so warm, that he just lies there sleepily until he feels Mark start to move.

"Hey," mumbles Eduardo. "Morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Not really."

Eduardo frowns. "You okay?" he asks. "Did you have nightmares, or...?"

"A few, yeah," says Mark, with a shrug. "Whatever."

"Mark." Eduardo sighs. "I told you to wake me up."

Mark huffs, then rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. "I'm not gonna wake you up multiple times every fucking night to complain about bad dreams," he says tightly.

"I wouldn't mind," says Eduardo, stroking Mark's arm. "You know I wouldn't mind."

Mark says nothing, just keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Finally Eduardo sits up. "Okay, well." He yawns, and decides to change the subject. "I thought we could make pancakes today, like from scratch," he says. "If you're up for it."

"Mm."

"Are you hungry?"

"No," says Mark, as always.

Eduardo stares at him for a moment. "Mark," he says at last, lying back down and trailing a finger along the side of Mark's face, "you know you're allowed to be hungry right? Everyone gets hungry."

"I'm not hungry," Mark insists. He hesitates, then glances at Eduardo. "But, uh. Pancakes sound good. I guess."

***

There's a pancake recipe on the back of Eduardo's bag of flour. He reads it closely, then mixes the dry ingredients in a bowl and adds the milk and egg, while Mark looks on.

"You want to stir?" asks Eduardo, handing Mark a whisk.

Mark shrugs, but takes it.

"Just mix till it's moist," says Eduardo, remembering his mother's advice. "Ignore the lumps."

Mark nods, and stirs the batter while Eduardo oils a frying pan on the stove.

Then, at Eduardo's direction, Mark scoops up a quarter cup of batter and pours it into the frying pan. 

It starts to bubble.

"Okay, you can't tell me that smell doesn't make you hungry," says Eduardo after a few moments, smiling at Mark.

Mark just shrugs. He looks uncomfortable.

"Hey, are you okay?" Eduardo asks, suddenly concerned. "Do you secretly hate pancakes? You don't have to have pancakes; it's fine if you want something else..."

"No," says Mark. "I like pancakes."

"Then what's up?"

Mark gives him a hesitant little glance, then fixes his attention on the blob of batter in the pan. "Um." He takes a deep breath. "Okay, look, there was this one time when I was first living with Sean, and he was making ramen for himself, and he asked if I was hungry," he says.

Eduardo nods tentatively, bracing himself for whatever horrific turn this story is about to take.

"And I said yeah," Mark goes on, "'cause I thought he was gonna share the ramen, right? But he just told me if I was hungry I could eat his cock. And he made me kneel and suck him off while he ate his fucking ramen." Mark stares at the browning batter like his life depends on it. "Wardo, I was so fucking hungry," he says. "And he just kept laughing. Asking if I was full yet."

"Jesus Christ," breathes Eduardo. He'd known Sean was cruel, but to torment a hungry kid like that, to humiliate him so abjectly for expressing a basic need, and to fucking enjoy it? To laugh at him? "Jesus _fucking_ Christ, what a fucking sadist. Shit, I can't— I just—"

"Anyway, I sure as hell never told him I was hungry after that," Mark says. "Or anyone else either."

Eduardo bites his lip, and resolves to banish the phrase "are you hungry" from his vocabulary. "I'm so sorry, Mark," he whispers, squeezing his hand. "I'm sorry you went through that."

Mark shrugs, without meeting Eduardo's eye. "I think the pancake is burned now," is all he says.

Eduardo grabs a spatula from a drawer and flips the pancake, revealing its blackened underside. Mark looks up at him in concern, like he expects him to be mad.

"Mark," says Eduardo, "it's okay. C'mere." 

And he lifts his arms, and Mark steps into them, and they hug until the pancake is burned on the other side too.

(But the next six pancakes come out perfect, and they eat them drizzled in syrup.)

***

Mark wakes Eduardo up that night, poking at his arm till he stirs. "Nightmare," he says, almost grudgingly, when Eduardo asks what's wrong.

"What about?" asks Eduardo, gently, sitting up a bit on his elbow.

"Shitty childhood stuff. Pretty boring."

"I don't think I've ever had a 'boring' nightmare," says Eduardo. "And I've had a lot of nightmares."

Mark says nothing.

"But you don't have to tell me," Eduardo assures him. "It's okay. I'm just glad you woke me up." He strokes Mark's hair, and for a while they're both quiet.

"Can you, like, talk about something?" Mark asks at last.

"Like, about what?"

"I don't know. Just— talk about the weather or something. Tell me why you give a shit about meteorology."

Eduardo laughs softly. "Uh. Okay," he says. And so he talks about watching the weather channel as a kid, and seeing hurricanes in Florida, and the effects of El Niño. He talks about air fronts and the troposphere and how all meteorological phenomena are based on just three variables. 

And soon enough, Mark is asleep again. And Eduardo leans over, and kisses him goodnight.

***

When Eduardo gets up the next morning, Mark is sitting on the couch, fully dressed, laptop open, apparently waiting for him.

"It's ready," he says, the second Eduardo emerges from the bedroom.

"Huh?"

"Facebook," says Mark, one knee bouncing under the laptop. "It's ready."

"Ready to... to launch?"

"Well, within Harvard, yes. I was gonna wait till finals week but I think the more time it has to spread before the end of the semester, the better," Mark rattles off. "So I'll probably keep tweaking it over the next few days, but." He beckons to Eduardo. "Come here," he says, with a sudden burst of excitement, "come see."

Eduardo sits down next to him and Mark positions the laptop so he can view it. On the screen is a blue and white page that says, _Welcome to Facebook_. Then there's a brief description of the site, and the words, _To get started, click below to register._

"It looks amazing," says Eduardo, genuinely.

"Yeah. And let me show you the masthead." Mark taps a few keys and a new page appears on the screen.

"You made a masthead," murmurs Eduardo.

 _Mark Zuckerberg, Founder & CEO_, it says, and below that:

" _Eduardo Saverin, Co-Founder & CFO_," reads Eduardo.

"Yeah," says Mark, seeming pleased.

"You have no idea what that's gonna mean to my father," says Eduardo.

"Sure I do," shrugs Mark.

Eduardo swallows, watches as Mark clicks a couple buttons, and then: 

"That's it."

"That's it?"

"It's live."

Eduardo blinks. "You did it," he says, touching Mark's shoulder.

Mark looks over. "Yeah," he says softly, sounding awed. "Yeah, I—" He frowns briefly, looks away, then glances back at Eduardo. "Hey, that club, the one... Billy is in," he says.

"The Phoenix Club?"

"Yeah. Those guys know people, right? Cool people?"

Eduardo shrugs. "Yeah, I assume."

"Do you think Billy could send them the link?" asks Mark.

Eduardo nods slowly. "Sure," he says, "I'm sure he would," though he can't exactly claim the Phoenix Club doesn't intimidate the hell out of him.

"Text him," Mark says decisively.

So Eduardo does. _Hi Billy_ , he writes, with Mark watching over his shoulder, _remember my friend Mark whom you met a few days ago? He just made a great website I really think you should check out, www.facebook.com_

He presses send, hoping the message doesn't sound like some sort of spam.

Mark holds onto Eduardo's forearm and they wait with bated breath for Billy's response, which arrives a few minutes later: _This looks cool, can I join_

"Tell him yes," says Mark immediately, tapping anxiously at Eduardo's arm.

 _Yeah_ , Eduardo texts back, _please do! You'd be the first member haha. We were also wondering if you could tell the phoenix about it?_

 _No problem man they'll love it_ , is Billy's instant reply.

Mark exhales and slumps back against the cushions of the couch. "Good," he says, sounding relieved. "Uh. Say thank you," he adds after a moment.

 _Thanks so much! Mark says thanks too :)_ , Eduardo texts.

And Billy responds within a minute: _Ok I emailed everyone. Tell mark my pleasure, cool site. See you next week @ party._

Eduardo sets aside his phone. "He emailed them," he says.

Mark nods vaguely, still leaning back against the cushions. He stays there like that for a while, breathing deeply, his eyes closed, his head bowed almost prayerfully.

Then, all at once, he sits up. "Okay," he says, and refreshes the page. "Shit."

"What's wrong?" asks Eduardo, frowning, peering over.

"Nothing," says Mark. "Just. Billy made an account, and so did five other people."

"Already? It's been like two minutes."

"I know," breathes Mark. "I know. Shit." He turns to look at Eduardo, and he smiles. He looks so _proud_. Proud, and excited, and his dimples are showing—

Eduardo kisses him. And kisses him, and kisses him.

(And by the time they finish kissing, Facebook has seventeen members.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! :D


	28. mcdonald's

Eduardo spends the rest of the day studying for finals, which start next week, and Mark spends it obsessively refreshing Facebook and announcing the number of members every few minutes.

By nightfall, the number has reached 300.

"You know what?" says Eduardo, closing his textbook as he makes up his mind. "I'm taking you out on a date. An official date. Tonight. To celebrate."

Mark refreshes the page. "311 members," he says. "Where to?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are we going for dinner?"

Eduardo thinks for a moment. "How about a fancy restaurant?" he says. "I know a few around here. I'm talking really fancy; like, Michelin stars, a million different forks, the whole shebang."

"Do I have to dress up?" asks Mark, sounding unenthused.

"You can borrow some of my clothes," Eduardo tells him, waving a hand.

Mark shrugs. "315 members."

"Mark, come on," says Eduardo, frowning, nudging his arm. "It'll be fun, I promise."

And finally, Mark looks up from the computer. "I've never been to a nice restaurant," he says, flatly. "I think I'd embarrass you."

"What? No, of course you wouldn't."

"I'm pretty sure I would. I'm not good with etiquette and shit," Mark says. "I'm, like, a low-class person, Wardo; you know that, right?"

"You are not a 'low-class person,'" says Eduardo, rolling his eyes.

"I am though," Mark says bluntly. "With the exception of maybe two foster families, I've consistently lived below the poverty line my entire life. I think that qualifies me as low-class." He stares at Eduardo, unblinking.

And Eduardo realizes that maybe this isn't so much about Mark being afraid of embarrassing Eduardo as it is about Mark knowing he'd feel out of his element and wanting to avoid that, about Mark wanting to be comfortable, wanting to do things on his own terms. He nods slowly. "Okay," he says. "We don't— we don't have to go somewhere fancy then, that's fine. How about just a regular restaurant?"

Mark seems to contemplate this for a moment. Then he shrugs. "Can we go to McDonald's?" he asks.

Eduardo smiles a little at the contrast between McDonald's and a Michelin start restaurant. "Sure," he says. "McDonald's it is."

***

Mark orders a cheeseburger and a small order of fries, which are basically the cheapest things on the menu. Eduardo gets a crispy chicken sandwich.

"You know I used to practically live on McDonald's and twizzlers," says Mark as they sit down at a booth with their food. "It was, like, all I could afford."

"Mm," says Eduardo, unwrapping his burger.

"Sometimes Sean wouldn't—" Mark breaks off, looks away. "Sorry," he says. "That's probably not a good topic for a date." He pauses. "I've never been on a date before, except when we went for donuts."

Eduardo sets down his burger. "You've never been on a date before?"

"No."

"Not even with a client, or...?"

Mark's lips twitch upward. "Wardo, I was a street whore, not an escort."

"And Sean never—"

"Took me out on a date? Are you kidding? No."

Eduardo nods carefully, and Mark squints at him.

"You _have_ figured out that he wasn't really my boyfriend, right?" he asks.

"Yeah," says Eduardo, quietly. "I never thought he was."

Mark takes a bite of his cheeseburger and chews slowly. "It was just. Easier," he says at last, swallowing. "To tell myself that, you know?"

Eduardo nods again. "I know," he says, and he reaches out his hand across the table, and Mark takes it.

***

They order McFlurries when they've finished their burgers, and they stay there for hours, talking, till the McDonald's closes at 11.

They walk back home in the dark, kissing at every stoplight, and Eduardo can't remember the last time he felt this happy.

***

"Can you believe it has 450 members?" Mark asks.

They're lying in bed together, side by side, Mark's back against Eduardo's chest. Eduardo puts his chin in the crook of Mark's neck, feels Mark's ear pressed to his cheek. He turns his face and kisses it.

"No," he says. "I can't believe it."

They lie there in silence for a while, breathing in sync with each other, until Mark says, suddenly, "Five more days till Monday."

"Monday?"

"Yeah, that's when I take my last dose of antibiotics, and then we can fuck," says Mark, tonelessly.

Eduardo feels a thrum of anticipation at the statement, but also a twinge of something else, something like disquiet. Because Mark doesn't sound excited. And Mark has only ever made sexual overtures when he's feeling insecure, when he thinks he owes Eduardo something. And Mark still changes his clothes in the bathroom and doesn't go to bed wearing anything less than sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Yeah, but only if you want to," Eduardo says carefully.

"I've told you that I want to," says Mark. "Why wouldn't I want to?"

"Because—" starts Eduardo, before realizing he doesn't know what to say. It doesn't feel like his place to remind Mark of something he certainly already knows, that years of sexual trauma might take more than a month to overcome. "I don't like fire," he says instead. "It freaks me out, reminds me of Christy. It's been two years and I still can't be in the same room as a fucking fireplace."

"Good for you."

"Mark—"

Mark extricates himself from Eduardo's arms and scoots away from him in the darkness. "I don't need you to tell me what I can or can't handle," he says.

"I'm _not_ , I'm just saying…"

"Saying what? What are you saying, Eduardo?"

Eduardo sighs. "I don't want you to have sex with me because you feel like you have to," he says.

"Thank you for your concern, I really appreciate it," Mark says acerbically.

"Mark, what's wrong?" asks Eduardo, reaching out an arm toward Mark, but Mark just moves further away.

"Nothing is wrong," he says. "I want to go to sleep."

"We'll talk about this tomorrow, okay?" says Eduardo.

Mark doesn't answer, and they lie there silently, three feet apart in the bed.

Eduardo is pretty sure that it's hours before either of them falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! comments and kudos are always very very appreciated! :)


	29. fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh. the rating changed lol
> 
> and i also updated yesterday if you missed that!

When Eduardo gets up the next morning, Mark is already in the living room, seated on the couch, laptop on his thighs— and _pantless_ , his legs bare and pale and—

Eduardo averts his gaze. "Jesus, Mark," he says.

"593 members," says Mark, apparently unperturbed.

"Are you wearing boxers?" asks Eduardo.

"No," says Mark. "But you can look," he adds. "I want you to look."

Eduardo lifts his eyes, stares at Mark's knees, at the skin of his thigh visible under the laptop, at the curve of his ass against the couch.

"Mark, what are you doing?" he says, unsure how concerned he should be about this development.

"I didn't sleep last night," Mark says solemnly. "And I thought it through, and I want you to jerk me off."

Eduardo tears his gaze away from Mark's legs, looks him in the eye, and says, "Mark. What do you mean you thought it through?"

Mark shrugs. "I mean I thought it through. For hours. And I decided I really, really want you to jerk me off."

Eduardo tries to make sense of this, tries to figure out what he should do. Because he wants, desperately, to touch Mark, to feel him in his hand, to make him come, but just last night they were arguing, and—

"Mark, what about— the thing with your foster dad? Last time you said—"

"Last time I said that I'd tell you when I wanted you to," Mark cuts him off. "And now I want you to."

Eduardo swallows. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Mark says. He closes the laptop and places it onto the coffee table, and suddenly nothing is covered, and Eduardo looks away again, instinctively.

"Wardo," Mark laughs. "I said you can look."

So Eduardo looks. Stares, in fact, at Mark's dick.

"Do you want to touch it?" asks Mark.

Eduardo just nods.

"Then c'mere," says Mark, blinking once. "Come on."

"You're... sure it's okay?"

" _Yes_ ," says Mark. "And I'll tell you if I change my mind," he adds.

Eduardo nods again, and approaches slowly. He kneels down in front of Mark, between his legs, and places a hand on his thigh. "Is this alright?"

"Yes. Keep going."

So Eduardo caresses the skin of his thigh, rubs it, teases it, drags his fingers up toward the crease at Mark's pelvis. Then he takes a deep breath and trails the pads of his fingers up Mark's hardening cock. Mark shivers a little.

"Do you have lube?" asks Eduardo.

"You don't need to use lube," says Mark.

"But it'll feel better for you," says Eduardo, frowning.

Mark stares at him a moment, a strange expression on his face. Then he reaches down, unzips his backpack, and pulls out a bottle from the front compartment.

He hands it to Eduardo, who squirts some onto his palm.

"Okay," Eduardo says, and he curls his hand around Mark's cock. For a moment he just holds it, squeezing a little. Mark closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath.

"You're sure this is okay?" asks Eduardo.

"Yes, Wardo, please," says Mark, desperately. "Fuck."

So Eduardo kisses Mark's calf, and begins to move his hand. 

Mark makes a whimpery noise at the movement and Eduardo feels his own dick start to harden. "Does this feel good?" he whispers.

"Yes," gasps Mark.

Eduardo smiles, and keeps going, slowly, torturously at first, while his free hand travels over Mark's body, down his thighs, around his balls, fondling them.

Mark's face is reddening, his hands are gripping the edge of the sofa cushion, and from time to time he lets out a little noise of pleasure that makes Eduardo's stomach flip.

He changes his rhythm on Mark's cock, speeds up, occasionally rubbing the head with his thumb. Mark moans.

"You okay?" Eduardo asks.

"Fuck, Wardo," says Mark, his eyelashes fluttering. He bites his lip. "Yes, that's— fuck. Yes."

Eduardo tightens his grip, and keeps stroking, until Mark is shaking, until he moans one last time and comes hard in Eduardo's hand.

"Fuck," says Mark, exhaling, sinking into the pillows behind him on the couch.

Eduardo kisses his cheek and heads to the kitchen, where he wipes his hand on a paper towel.

When he gets back to the living room Mark's eyes are still closed and he's panting, trembling, his cheeks flushed. He looks indescribably happy.

Eduardo's dick is hard and throbbing by now, but he wants to let Mark be, doesn't want to distract him from basking in his own pleasure for what's possibly the first time ever.

So he slips into the bathroom and quickly jerks himself off, thinking of Mark's moans and little whimpers, and comes in about three seconds.

When he rejoins Mark on the couch, Mark looks over at him, smiles hazily, and—

And there are tears on his cheeks.

"Shit, are you okay?" asks Eduardo, sitting up straighter.

Mark nods quickly. "Yeah, I'm just—" He wipes his eyes. "Fuck, I don't know, it was just so _nice_ ," he says.

"So you liked it," says Eduardo, just to confirm.

Make sniffs, and smiles. "Yes, Wardo, of course I _liked_ it," he says, as though Eduardo is being ridiculous. "I— I've never come like that before, like, from someone touching me in a way that I wanted? Shit."

Eduardo rests his head on Mark's shoulder and his hand on Mark's thigh, and they sit there like that for a while in silence.

"Eduardo," says Mark at last, his voice still a little tremulous from crying.

"Yeah?"

For a moment Mark is quiet. Then, "What if you're right and I don't want to fuck on Monday?" he says in a rush.

"Then we won't fuck on Monday," Eduardo says simply.

"I mean, will you be disappointed, or something?"

"No," says Eduardo. "I'll be relieved that we're not doing something you don't want to do."

"I _do_ want to do it," says Mark. "That's what's fucking frustrating. I want you to fuck me, I _really_ fucking want you to, but then I think about it and—" He breaks off, breathing hard. "And suddenly I don't. Want it. Not— not yet." He sounds angry.

"Mark," says Eduardo, stroking the downy hair of Mark's thigh, "it's okay. I can wait. I can wait as long as you need."

"But you shouldn't have to," says Mark, crossing his arms. "I know it's not fair to you; I know I should just suck it up and—"

"No," says Eduardo, firmly. "You shouldn't. You shouldn't do anything before you're ready; _that's_ what wouldn't be fair, okay?"

Mark inhales shakily, and looks up at Eduardo, his blue eyes wide and soft and grateful. "I love you," he says.

Eduardo cups Mark's face in his hands. "I love you too."

"I'm sorry that I ruined our date night yesterday."

"You didn't ruin it."

Mark lifts an eyebrow. "Yes, I did."

"I did too," says Eduardo, shrugging. "But this made up for it."

Mark smiles. "True," he says.

And they kiss, a deep, bruising kiss, their arms around each other and their hearts racing.

Until at last they pull apart, and Mark is grinning, and birds outside are chirping, and honestly? Eduardo feels like he could fly.

He tells this to Mark, who laughs, and snuggles close, and says: "Yeah. Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! i hope you enjoyed!! leave a comment to let me know your thoughts! :D


	30. relationship status

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** homophobia and use of a homophobic slur

Eduardo has a Microeconomics lecture later that morning, his last class of the semester. He doesn't focus on a single word the professor says.

All he can think about is Mark, half-naked, his dick in Eduardo's hand and—

Well, game theory seems rather boring in comparison.

***

Eduardo makes a Facebook account, finally, that afternoon, when he gets back from class.

The first thing he does is send a friend request to Mark, who's seated beside him on the couch. Then he gives Mark the laptop so Mark can log into his own account and accept the request.

"Okay, there, we're friends," says Mark, logging out and placing the computer back on Eduardo's lap. "Now finish your profile."

So Eduardo signs back in and fills out his interests, his favorite music, his favorite movies. Then he scrolls up to the top of the page. He'd left "Relationship Status" blank earlier, but now—

"Can I put that I'm in a relationship with you?" he asks Mark.

Mark blinks. "We're in a relationship?"

"I mean, aren't we? We went on a date to McDonald's; if that doesn't make it official I don't know what does," says Eduardo.

Mark smiles a little. "That's a good point."

"And I gave you a handjob."

"Another good point."

"And hmm, let's see, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone before, so..."

Mark looks away, blushing. "Okay," he says with a shrug. "Yeah, sure, put that we're in a relationship."

So Eduardo does.

It gives him a thrill, to see it printed there, under his name and birthdate and hometown— 

_Relationship Status: In a Relationship with Mark Zuckerberg._

He pokes Mark in the arm. "Look," he says.

Mark looks over at the screen, then up at Eduardo, and smiles shyly. "I love you too," he says, "more than I've ever loved anyone before too."

And they kiss, the laptop balanced precariously on Eduardo's knees and their relationship status emblazoned on the screen.

***

By Monday morning, four days later, Facebook has 3,416 members.

"That's more than half the Harvard student body," says Mark as they eat breakfast. "And it hasn't even been a week."

"That's really fucking amazing," says Eduardo.

Mark nods. "I know," he says. "I think it's time to expand."

"To other schools?"

"To everyone," Mark declares, with a particularly forceful bite of cornflakes. "We should reach 5,000 members by this afternoon. And then..." He shrugs. "We'll open it up to the rest of the world."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Mark smiles at Eduardo, and Eduardo grins back. 

"Let's do it."

***

Eduardo has his biology final that afternoon. It goes well, really well, and afterward he turns his phone back on to find a text from Mark: _5k members, harvard.edu email no longer required for signup_

And then another text, sent a half hour later: _5.5k now_

Eduardo sets off toward home, texting Mark back as he walks— _Wow!!!! Great job Mark, see you soon. :)_

Then he inhales deeply, presses a couple buttons, and calls his father.

***

"Eduardo?" answers his father after a few rings. He sounds unenthused.

"Dad, hi," says Eduardo. "I have, uh. Some news."

His father says nothing.

"I'm CFO of a company now," Eduardo tells him, trying not to sound too proud, too excited.

"What company?"

"It's, um. Well it's pretty new. It's a website? My friend started it. It's called Facebook; it's a social networking site, and it's getting really popular; we have like over 5,000 members already."

"And?"

Eduardo frowns. "And what?"

"Is this supposed to be impressive?" his father asks.

"I mean, yeah, it's— I think it's pretty impressive," says Eduardo, quietly, beginning to regret this call.

"It sounds to me like two children playing with a toy they'll soon grow tired of."

"It's not— Dad, it's not a toy. It's a successful website—"

"Successful? How long has it existed, a week?"

"Five days," mumbles Eduardo.

His father scoffs. "And how many investors do you have? How many advertisers?"

Eduardo doesn't answer.

"Give me a break, Eduardo," says his father.

"Dad, I just—"

"I'm at work right now," his father cuts him off. "You're wasting my time."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be," says his father, and he hangs up on Eduardo.

Eduardo shoves his cell phone into his pocket and keeps walking.

***

He doesn't cry, not once, not the whole way back to his apartment building. Nor does he cry in the elevator, or the hallway, or even when he enters his apartment and Mark asks if he's okay.

"I'm fine," he says wearily.

"Wardo," says Mark, frowning at him, unconvinced, "shit, was your final that bad?"

"The final was easy."

"Then what's wrong?" Mark asks.

Eduardo sighs and sits down next to him on the couch. "I called my father."

Mark closes the laptop. "Wardo..."

"I know," says Eduardo, "I know it was stupid, but I wanted to tell him about Facebook. I thought— I don't know, I thought he'd be proud."

"Let me guess, he wasn't."

"No, he didn't give a shit," says Eduardo.

"Because he's an idiot," says Mark.

Eduardo smiles weakly. "I guess."

"I've told you, don't listen to him."

Eduardo nods. "I know. I know I— I shouldn't care what he thinks."

"That's right," says Mark. "You shouldn't. Come here."

So Eduardo nestles close to Mark, and Mark strokes his cheek absently, and Eduardo tries not to care.

He almost, almost manages it.

***

An hour later, his cell phone rings.

"It's my father," he says to Mark, sitting up, staring at the phone.

"Don't," Mark says. "Wardo. Don't answer it."

Eduardo bites his lip, shrugs apologetically, and answers it anyway. "Hello? Dad?"

"Who is Mark Zuckerberg?" his father asks in English.

"He's— What? He's my friend, the one I told you about who started Facebook," says Eduardo, frowning. "How did you—"

"I went onto your website and searched for your name, Eduardo," his father replies. "I found a page about you. It has your picture. Why does it say you're in a relationship with this Mark Zuckerberg?"

"What?" whispers Eduardo.

"I will not repeat the question."

Eduardo can practically feel the blood draining from his face. This is not happening, this was never supposed to happen, he was supposed to go through his whole life without ever mentioning this to his father, and now...

He clutches the phone to his cheek and stammers out something that's mostly gibberish and punctuated by vague denials, "It's not— I wasn't— we aren't—"

"Tell me that this is just a sick joke, Eduardo," says his father. "Just two stupid college boys making a joke on their stupid website."

And Eduardo almost does. Almost tells him that yes, it's just a joke, of course it's just a joke, of course he only likes women.

But then he stops. Closes his mouth. Because why should he tell his father what he wants to hear? His father has no right to demand that. His father isn't worthy of being lied to about this.

And Mark, the person whom Eduardo loves most in the world, is worthy of so much more than being lied _about_.

Eduardo glances at Mark then, for the first time during the phone call. Mark just tilts his head to the side, inquisitively, but his eyes are sharp, and Eduardo is pretty sure Mark knows what's going on. Eduardo grabs his hand, holds on tight, and takes a deep breath. 

He's aware, in his heart of hearts, that he's about to permanently destroy his relationship with his father. But what relationship is that, anyway? A relationship where Eduardo is constantly demeaned and insulted by someone he's only ever tried desperately to please?

Lying about Mark will not make his father love him. Nothing will make his father love him. Fuck his father.

"It's not a joke," says Eduardo in Portuguese.

"What did you say?" asks his father, soft and threatening.

"I said it's not a fucking joke," Eduardo repeats. "I'm in a relationship with Mark, and I love him, and if you have a problem with that then you can—" He breaks off. He feels like he might cry.

There's a long, long silence on the other end of the line, and when his father finally responds, his voice is icy cold. "I cannot believe this," he says. "My son is _not_ a fucking faggot."

"He is," says Eduardo. "I am. Sorry."

And with that, he hangs up the phone, and starts to sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! please leave a comment if you feel so inclined!!!


	31. okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mention of a homophobic slur and discussion of homophobia

For a long time Eduardo just cries, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

"Wardo," says Mark, but Eduardo doesn't answer.

Mark touches his knee. "Wardo, what did he say?" he asks. "You switched to Portuguese; I couldn't tell what—"

"He called me a faggot," says Eduardo.

Mark stares at him. "Shit," he says at last.

"Yeah." Eduardo rubs his eyes and draws a shaky breath, trying to stop crying, but he just starts crying harder. "He— he went on Facebook and found my profile," he chokes out. "He saw that it said I'm in a relationship with you. He asked me if it was a joke. And I said— I said it wasn't, and he—"

"Shit," Mark says again. "This is my fault; I should've made it so that profile information is only visible to friends, or something. I didn't think of that. I should've—"

"Mark, no," says Eduardo. "It's not your fault. It's no one's fault. It's just..." He trails off, inhales deeply, and manages to swallow his tears.

For a while they're both quiet.

"I almost said it _was_ a joke," Eduardo whispers then. "That's what he wanted; he wanted me to tell him it was a joke so we could both go on with life and pretend this never happened."

"But you didn't."

"No, because I'm fucking sick of trying to make him happy," says Eduardo. "He's never happy, he's never been happy with me, and I don't care what he said, I don't care if he disowns me or—" And then he's crying again, because he _does_ care. He might hate himself for caring, but he definitely cares, and—

Mark puts his arms around him, pulls him close. It's a much more physical gesture than Eduardo is used to from Mark, but he appreciates it. He burrows his face in Mark's neck.

"What will your mom think?" Mark asks, after a few moments.

"She won't be pleased," says Eduardo. He sighs into Mark's shirt. "I remember once when I was like seven I told her I had a crush on some boy. And she took me by my shoulders and said no, I must be confused, because boys can only have crushes on girls."

"That's bullshit."

"Yeah, but—" Eduardo swallows. "Fuck, I never thought— I never thought they'd find out," he admits, his voice muffled against the skin of Mark's neck. "I thought I'd just marry a woman and it would never matter, and I could just..."

Mark stiffens a little. "Shit, Wardo," he says. "I fucked things up."

Eduardo lifts his head from Mark's shoulder. "Mark, no, you didn't— you didn't fuck things up; don't say that."

"If it weren't for me—"

"If it weren't for you I'd be fucking miserable," says Eduardo. He leans in, kisses Mark on the lips, and suddenly Mark grabs his face and kisses back with urgency.

"I hate your parents," he says.

They pull apart, and Eduardo finds that he's crying again. "Me too," he agrees, tearfully. He looks down. "But— not my mom. I mean, sometimes my mom, but—" He shakes his head. "Jesus, Mark, even my father, sometimes I—" He sniffs. "Sometimes it's really hard," he whispers. "To hate them. Even if I want to."

Mark nods slowly. "I loved my mom," he says, his voice flat. "She was never home and always on drugs but I still loved her." He shrugs. "It's fucked up, but."

"Yeah."

Mark takes Eduardo's hand in his own, traces the veins on it lightly with his finger. "You know there's nothing wrong with liking guys," he says then.

"I know."

"And your dad is an ignorant fucking bigot. And a piece of shit father. And person."

Eduardo nods perfunctorily.

"And your mom too, if she agrees with him."

Eduardo says nothing to that.

Mark gives his hand a squeeze. "You're gonna get over this, right?" he asks, eyes wide, his voice tinged with real concern.

Eduardo offers him something that maybe approaches a smile. "I hope so," he says.

"I shouldn't have said that," Mark mutters. He bites his lip, looks away. "Shit, I know it's not— not something you can just 'get over;' I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, Mark."

"You've never told me to get over anything," says Mark, shaking his head, "even when I'm being stupid." He glances up. "Not that you're being stupid," he adds quickly.

Eduardo feels tears pooling in his eyes again, threatening to spill over. "I kind of am."

"No," Mark says firmly. "You're not."

"But I know he's wrong. Seriously, I _know_ he's wrong, Mark, I swear, so why am I still—" He wipes at his face. "I cry too much," he says.

Mark leans over and kisses him, kisses his lips, his cheeks, the corners of his eyes. "I love you," he says tentatively.

"I love you too," Eduardo hiccups.

Mark pats his back, like he's not sure what else to do. "Wardo. You can cry," he says then, softly.

So Eduardo does. He cries, on and off, for God knows how long, and Mark leans on his shoulder and strokes his back in silence.

And when he feels like he has no tears left, Eduardo sits up a bit straighter and takes a shuddering breath and says, "Okay. I'm okay."

Which isn't true; he's not okay, not yet. And Mark just looks at him, his lips pressed together and his brow furrowed, like he knows it's a lie.

"I mean. I will be," Eduardo amends.

Mark nods at that, and cups Eduardo's cheek, and kisses him again.

And it's true, thinks Eduardo. 

He'll be okay. Someday. He will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading! please leave a comment; they're seriously my lifeblood.


	32. ravioli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** discussion of past rape and mention of a homophobic slur

"My first kiss was with a boy," Eduardo says, as they eat ravioli for dinner that evening. "This kid from my English class, junior year of high school." He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. "We were both embarrassed and never talked about it afterward. It was weird."

"It... sounds weird," says Mark. He seems uncertain, like he's trying to gauge Eduardo's mood. Like he thinks Eduardo might burst into tears again at any moment. But Eduardo knows he won't: He doesn't feel like crying anymore; he feels like talking. Like telling things that he's never told anyone to someone he knows will listen.

"Yeah," says Eduardo. "And then senior year I got a girlfriend. And we had sex. Uh, that was my first time. And it felt really good, right? And I thought, great, I'm not gay. But then I'd see boys and..." He takes another bite of ravioli, chews, swallows.

Mark watches him, an unreadable expression on his face.

"And then I started college and I was at this party and there was this guy there," Eduardo says. "And he was really shy and I was very awkward and we were both drunk, and we just... I mean, neither of us knew what we were doing, really, but we gave each other blowjobs and—" He laughs. "Anyway, after that I knew I sure as fuck wasn't straight." He pauses, and meets Mark's eye. "Do you ever think about this stuff?" he asks.

"What stuff?"

"You know, like... your sexual... orientation, or...?"

Mark shrugs. "I've only had sex with men. And it's always been shitty. And painful. And humiliating," he says dully. He shrugs again, maybe at the stricken expression on Eduardo's face, and looks down. "Except your handjob last week," he adds, stirring the marinara sauce on his plate. "That was good."

Eduardo smiles a little. "I'm— I'm glad," he says. "But I mean. What about crushes, like when you were younger?"

"I've never had a crush," says Mark. He frowns. "I always thought crushes weren't real and everyone just pretended to have them because they were idiots."

"Really?" laughs Eduardo. "But how? Haven't there been people you were just— like, attracted to?"

"Well... you," says Mark, looking slightly confused.

Eduardo stares at him. "I'm the only person you've ever been attracted to?"

"Yes."

"So you're— what, like, Wardosexual?" asks Eduardo, a bit jokingly, still unsure if Mark is being serious.

"I guess," says Mark with a shrug. It seems like he genuinely means it.

Eduardo feels his heart constrict a bit at the thought, and he opens his mouth to respond, but then Mark asks, "What about you?"

"Oh. I— I've had a lot of crushes," Eduardo says, blushing. "On boys and girls and... yeah. I think I'm bisexual. I mean, I _know_ I am; I just." It feels strange to say it out loud.

Mark nods.

"I've never told that to anyone before," admits Eduardo.

Mark spears a ravioli on his fork and nods again, like he doesn't know what to say.

"It feels good," Eduardo adds. "To tell you."

Mark smiles at that, his cheeks dimpling softly.

And Eduardo leans over the corner of the table and kisses him.

***

Eduardo can't sleep. 

Mark lies nearby in bed, breathing evenly, but Eduardo's heart is pounding. He feels strangely exposed in the darkness, a sensation of residual vulnerability after a day of hurting and crying and sharing things he thought he'd never say aloud.

He thinks about his father and his mother and whether they'll ever speak to him again, whether he _wants_ them to speak to him again. He thinks about other things too: About everything he talked about at dinner— his first crush and his first kiss and his first girlfriend— and about Mark, who _feels_ like a first, even though he isn't, technically speaking. 

He turns onto his side, and suddenly, beside him, Mark twitches, lets out a gasp. 

"Mark?" says Eduardo.

Mark gasps again, and his breathing grows ragged, like he's— in pain? "Stop," he whimpers, thrashing a bit. "Stop."

Eduardo turns on the lamp on his nightstand and shakes Mark's shoulder. "Mark," he says.

Mark's eyes fly open and he sits up in bed, recoiling from Eduardo's touch.

"Hey. Mark. It's okay," says Eduardo softly, resisting the urge to touch him again. "You were having a nightmare."

Mark glances at him, his chest heaving. "I know," he says. He looks away.

"It sounded bad," Eduardo says hesitantly.

Mark just shrugs, and lies back down, so he's facing away from Eduardo.

Eduardo touches his arm, and at first Mark flinches. But then he scoots closer, until they're spooning, and even after a month and a half of sleeping in the same bed, Eduardo's stomach still flutters when Mark gets near him like this.

They lie there in silence for a while.

Then Mark clears his throat. "My nightmare—" he says. He pauses, then: "You know a third of runaway youth are sexually assaulted within their first 48 hours on the streets?" he intones.

"Fuck," says Eduardo, "that's horrifying."

"Yeah," Mark says. Eduardo waits to see if he'll go on, but he doesn't.

"Did that— happen?" Eduardo prompts tentatively. "To you? After you ran away from foster care?"

"No," mutters Mark, and Eduardo feels momentary relief, but then Mark shifts a bit and says, "For me it took 72 hours."

Eduardo shuts his eyes. "Mark, I'm—" He has no idea what to say. "I'm sorry."

Mark is quiet.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Eduardo asks.

Mark shakes his head, then shrugs. "Uh. I was sleeping on a bench at a bus stop. The guy was really drunk," he says flatly. He pauses, and curls up more tightly. "I'd never had sex before that," he says. "Like, penetrative sex."

"Mark..." Eduardo buries his nose in the hair at the nape of Mark's neck. He thinks of his own first time, with his high school girlfriend: hesitant and gentle, with lots of laughing and blushing on both sides. "At dinner, when I talked about my girlfriend, this is what you thought about, huh?" he asks quietly.

Mark doesn't reply.

"Jesus, you must think I'm fucking ridiculous," says Eduardo, with a humorless sort of laugh. "Crying about my father and whining about my sexuality and meanwhile you've been through so much fucking shit, and I can't even imagine what—"

"Wardo," says Mark, abruptly. 

Eduardo breaks off.

"You're not ridiculous."

"I've never been raped," Eduardo whispers.

Mark snorts. "You think that— what, your problems don't matter because I've been _raped_? That's not how it works."

"Not that they don't _matter_ ," says Eduardo. "Just that—" He sighs. "Well they kind of don't, do they? In comparison."

"In comparison?" repeats Mark. "What, you think it's a competition?"

"No—"

"Good. Because that would be insulting," says Mark. "You don't get to analyze my shit to decide how bad it was and then compare it to yours. Like it's a fucking game I'm winning or something."

"That's not what I meant, Mark."

"Okay, then don't—" Mark lets out a huff. "Look Wardo, I've gone through shit and you've gone through shit and it's all shit. All of it."

Eduardo nods slowly.

"You can't compare shit to shit. _That_ would be ridiculous." He rolls over onto his back and turns his head toward Eduardo. "Being upset that your dad called you a faggot is not ridiculous."

Eduardo looks away. His eyes are stinging, and then— and then he's crying.

Mark sits up a little, and takes Eduardo's face in his hands, and kisses him, wiping at his tears with his thumbs as he does.

Eduardo waits for Mark to tell him to stop crying, to tell him that he's cried enough today, but Mark doesn't. He just keeps kissing him, and then he lies back down, settling with his cheek on Eduardo's chest.

"Goodnight, Wardo," he says.

Eduardo sniffs, and finds that he feels better. Less exposed, and more understood. He turns off the light, and touches Mark's hair.

"Goodnight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!! please drop a comment if you like :)


	33. the phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i also updated yesterday and the day before, in case you missed that!

The next morning, Eduardo wakes up to a text from Billy: _Hey man mark needs to come to the phoenix party tonight if he can, the guys want to meet the inventor of facebook!_

Eduardo rolls over in bed and tells Mark, who shrugs nonchalantly and says sure, he'll come.

"Really? You don't have to," says Eduardo. "You did say it wouldn't be your scene."

"It could be cool," says Mark. "They must like Facebook, if they want to meet me." He seems pleased about that. "And you'll be there, so."

"Yeah." Eduardo nods. "Okay then. I'll tell him we're coming."

***

Facebook has 7,000 members when they leave for the party that evening.

Mark wears a hoodie and Eduardo wears a dress shirt and they set off toward Mt. Auburn Street, where the Phoenix Club is located.

When they get there, the building is crawling with hot girls and hot guys, and brimming with alcohol, but they manage to find Billy, who introduces them haphazardly to a few people before rushing away, promising to be back soon.

So Eduardo and Mark retreat to a corner of the main room, where they drink their beers and watch the people around them dance and flirt and make fools of themselves. It's not exactly fun, but it's not bad. And there's certainly something alluring about being inside a final club for the first time, where everything seems varnished with the seductive glimmer of exclusivity.

Eventually Eduardo has to go to the bathroom, which he informs Mark, who nods.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Eduardo asks, and Mark just rolls his eyes.

So Eduardo leaves in search of an open bathroom, which he finally finds on the second floor. It takes him a while to make his way back downstairs, since the stairwell is so crowded with people, but at last he does, and he reaches the main room.

And there's Mark, standing in the corner where Eduardo left him, and—

He's kissing someone. A girl.

Eduardo's stomach drops, and before he knows what he's doing, he's striding across the room, pushing people aside, not paying attention to anything except—

"Mark! What the fuck?" he yells, yanking on Mark's arm as he and the girl break apart.

They stare at him. Mark looks fucking terrified. The girl just looks confused.

"Excuse me? Can I help you?" she snaps.

"Yeah. That's my fucking boyfriend," says Eduardo, but he's not looking at her, he's looking at Mark. 

Mark, who's staring at the floor, saying nothing, offering no explanation.

"Fuck, I didn't— I didn't know that," says the girl. "He was flirting with me! He didn't say—" She turns to Mark. "You didn't say you had a boyfriend, tell him!"

Mark doesn't respond.

Eduardo shuts his eyes and tries to take a steadying breath. 

"Hey, I'm sorry," says the girl, touching Eduardo's hand briefly. "I'm— I'm gonna go. I'm really sorry." She slips away into the crowd, into the pulse of the music, and Eduardo is left in the corner with Mark.

He feels like he's going to be sick, and Mark's still not looking at him, and—

"Come on," says Eduardo, grabbing Mark by the arm. "We're leaving."

Mark lifts his head.

"Come _on_ ," Eduardo repeats, heading for the door, and Mark shuffles after him, away from the crowd, out of the Phoenix Club, into the night.

***

"What the fuck was that?" demands Eduardo, once they're outside.

Mark says nothing.

"You were full-on making out with her!" Eduardo cries.

Mark just shrugs.

"What, you're not gonna talk to me?"

Mark shrugs again.

"Jesus Christ," says Eduardo. "Fine. Fuck you, Mark."

He gives Mark's arm a jerk and they head off toward the apartment.

They don't speak at all the whole way there, and Eduardo doesn't let go of Mark's arm, like he's afraid Mark will run away if he does. He probably _is_ afraid, honestly.

He's also angry, so angry he can barely think straight, and hurt, and shocked.

At last they reach his apartment and Eduardo drops Mark's arm, feels in his pocket for his key. He unlocks the door with a trembling hand and steps inside, but Mark hesitates out in the hallway, like he doesn't want to come in.

"Well?" says Eduardo.

And Mark shoots him a trepidatious glance, but enters the apartment. Then, with sudden forcefulness, he slams the door closed behind him, pushes Eduardo against the wall, and drops to his knees. He starts fumbling with the button of Eduardo's pants, but Eduardo slaps away his hand.

"What are you doing?" he demands.

"I'm gonna suck you off," says Mark in a quavering voice, as his fingers reach for the button again, and this time he manages to undo it.

"Hey, fuck that," Eduardo says sharply, grabbing Mark's wrist before he can move on to the zipper. "No you're not."

"Wardo, please," says Mark, and Eduardo's not sure he's ever heard him sound so desperate. "I'm really good; I swear to fucking God; I can make it up to you—"

"Jesus Christ, no, okay? I don't want a fucking blowjob," says Eduardo, gripping Mark's wrist a bit harder than he technically has to.

Mark meets his eye for a second, expression strangely blank, before lowering his gaze.

Eduardo lets go of his hand, re-buttons his pants. "And sex isn't going to make up for this," he says.

Mark nods at that, hesitantly, resignedly. Then: "Are you gonna kick me out?" he asks, with a forced sort of indifference, like he's working hard to keep his voice level.

And Eduardo feels his heart break apart.

He kneels down in front of Mark, and lifts Mark's chin so they're looking at each other.

" _No_ ," he says. "Of course not, Mark; I'm just... hurt. And confused. And you're not fucking talking to me."

Mark sets his jaw and stares straight ahead, eyes vacant.

"Why did you kiss her?" Eduardo asks him outright, pleading.

"She wanted to," says Mark. "I— I forgot to say no."

"You _forgot_?"

Mark nods. "Sean didn't—" he starts, then breaks off. He doesn't elaborate.

But the mention of Sean is enough for Eduardo. "Sean didn't let you say no," he murmurs, and suddenly it all makes sense. He strokes Mark's cheek with his finger. "And I bet your, um... clients didn't either, huh?"

Mark just swallows.

"Hey. It's okay. Can I hug you?" Eduardo asks.

Mark nods glumly, and Eduardo embraces him, both of them still kneeling on the floor. "That's not your life anymore, Mark," he says, squeezing tightly. "People don't get to do whatever they want to you now."

"I know," whispers Mark, clasping his own arms around Eduardo's back and laying his cheek on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

For a long time they're both silent.

Then Eduardo feels Mark open his mouth, then close it, then open it again. "I kissed her back," he says at last, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Eduardo scoffs. "Yeah, I noticed," he says, unable to keep from feeling a flare of jealousy at the reminder, but he doesn't stop hugging.

Mark swirls a finger on Eduardo's shoulder blade. "I don't know why," he says.

"Well..." Eduardo clears his throat. "Did your kiss clients back?"

"Yes," mutters Mark.

"So maybe you panicked," Eduardo offers slowly. "Maybe you fell into an old pattern, and felt like you had to make her happy. Like she was a client, or something."

Mark inhales deeply, exhales shakily. "Or maybe I'm just a slut," he says.

"You're not," says Eduardo, and he can't help but wonder how many times Mark's been called that, over the years, by people who forced him to fuck them.

"I feel like one," says Mark, wrenching himself free from the hug. He sits there, arms around his chest, looking very small, and Eduardo frowns.

Then he stands up from the floor and tugs at Mark's arm.

"Come on," he says, and Mark gets up too, though grudgingly, without meeting Eduardo's eye. "Come to the kitchen," says Eduardo. "We're gonna have ice cream."

He gently leads Mark into the kitchen and motions for him to sit at the dining table, which he does.

Then he goes to the freezer and takes out a carton of cookie dough ice cream. He spoons a heaping mound of it into two bowls and brings them to the table.

"Here," he says, setting one down in front of Mark and taking a seat.

Mark watches carefully as Eduardo digs in, then looks away.

"I didn't flirt with her," he says, prodding at his own ice cream with his spoon. "She said I was flirting but I wasn't."

"I believe you."

Mark takes a bite of ice cream. "Okay," he says. He pauses. "Are you gonna forgive me?"

"Mark." Eduardo sets down his spoon. "I've already forgiven you, it's fine."

"You still seem angry."

"I am, I guess, but— not at you, exactly."

Mark frowns.

"I'm angry that it happened but I don't blame you. I just feel... upset, you know?"

Mark gives an uncertain nod. "But you're not gonna kick me out?" he asks, after a moment.

"Mark, Jesus Christ," sighs Eduardo. "I already told you I'm not."

"Okay," Mark says in a small voice.

And Eduardo tries to smile at him, tries to remember that Mark's not used to trusting people, tries not to feel hurt that he would believe that getting kicked out was even a possibility. "Mark, I am _never_ going to kick you out," he says, leaning forward a bit, taking Mark's hand. "Ever."

Mark nods, withdrawing his hand immediately from Eduardo's and wiping at his eyes.

And Eduardo feels himself tearing up too, and for a while the two of them just sit there, both on the verge of crying, their ice cream softening in front of them.

Then Eduardo clears his throat. "You said no to me once," he points out. "When I was about to jerk you off the first time."

"Yeah."

"It means a lot," Eduardo says carefully. "That you trusted me enough to do that."

"I almost didn't," says Mark. "I was gonna just let you. But then you kept asking if it was okay, so I figured maybe you wouldn't be mad if—" He shrugs, and wipes again at his eyes.

"I'd never be mad, okay?" says Eduardo. "You can always tell me no."

Mark nods, and takes a bite of slightly-melted ice cream.

And Eduardo scoots his chair nearer to Mark's.

And they eat their ice cream in silence, with hesitant sidelong smiles, and it's much, much better than a final club party.

***

That night, in bed, Mark kisses Eduardo, ardently and desperately and tenderly all at the same time.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Don't be."

"I am though."

Eduardo's not sure what to say. Not that he's over it, because he's not. And not that he knows what it's like to try to set boundaries after they've all been taken from you, because he doesn't.

So instead he just kisses Mark back, and runs his fingers through his hair, and tells him, "I love you so much."

And Mark seems to relax at that. He lets out a sigh, and draws closer. "You too," he says.

And they fall asleep together, side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! please comment to let me know ur thoughts!!!! :D


	34. french toast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is kind of random and all over the map lol. i hope you still enjoy!
> 
> warning: mention of underage sex

"Wardo?"

Eduardo rolls over, still half asleep. "Huh?"

"I had a shitty dream," says Mark.

Eduardo glances at his alarm clock. It's 4:32 AM. "You woke me up," he says appreciatively.

"Yeah, I—" Eduardo feels Mark shrug. "Um. It was about Sean."

Eduardo nods, and waits. 

Mark takes a deep breath. "I was in his apartment, in bed with him," he says finally. "And I kept waiting for him to fuck me or whatever, like usual, but he wasn't moving, wasn't talking. And then eventually I realized he was dead. And I was just lying next to his fucking corpse."

"Jesus."

"Yeah."

"That's a terrible dream," says Eduardo.

"Yeah, and now I can't stop thinking about him," mutters Mark. "About really stupid shit. Like I wonder if he had a funeral. And I wonder where he's buried. But I don't know why; it's not like I would visit him." Eduardo says nothing, and Mark clears his throat. "My mom was cremated," he says. "The state paid for it. My caseworker took me to see her grave once." He pauses. "It was stupid."

Eduardo strokes Mark's back. He isn't sure how to respond.

"I cried though," says Mark, after a while. "I mean, I was only ten," he adds, as though he needs an excuse for crying at his mother's grave.

Eduardo squeezes his shoulder, trails his fingers down the skin of Mark's arm. They're both quiet for a while.

"Sometimes he wasn't really a bad person," Mark says then.

"Who, Sean?"

"Yeah."

Eduardo snorts, unable to help himself.

"No, I mean— like, when he found me on the street, he was nice," says Mark. "He bought me food. And let me shower, and gave me one of his t-shirts to wear."

"Right, and then he made you suck him off."

Mark is quiet for a moment. "That came first, actually," he says at last.

"Wow," says Eduardo, "what a saint."

Mark shifts uncomfortably. "Well, he gave me a place to stay," he mumbles. "It was better than sleeping on the fucking street."

"Giving a sixteen-year-old a place to stay in exchange for sex doesn't make someone a good person; it makes them a predator," Eduardo says hotly. "We've been through this."

Mark doesn't answer, and Eduardo feels a prick of regret. 

Because he knows that Mark's feelings about Sean are complicated. He knows that even if Sean was an abusive monster, he was still the only person Mark had to rely on for the past three years. And he knows that sometimes Mark tries to frame his interactions with Sean as though he himself had been the one with agency, despite that never being the case.

"Hey," he says gently. "Mark. I'm sorry. I—"

"No, it's fine," says Mark. "I know you hate when I talk about him."

"I don't hate when you talk about him; I just hate _him_."

"Well, he's dead, so. Lucky you."

Eduardo takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "Mark," he says helplessly. "I don't know what you want me to say." 

"Yeah. Me neither."

Eduardo kisses Mark's shoulder, curls an arm around his chest. "But I didn't mean to— to invalidate your feelings, or something," he says. "Whatever you feel about Sean, it's okay."

"That's what's frustrating," says Mark. "I don't _know_ what I feel about him."

Eduardo presses his forehead to Mark's hair. "That's okay too," he says. His arm is still draped over Mark's chest, and Mark puts his hand on Eduardo's, laces their fingers together. 

"It's not that I miss him," he says, and this time Eduardo keeps quiet.

Mark sighs. "Shit. I don't know. Sometimes I do," he says. "But I'm fucking glad that he's dead," he adds, resolutely.

Eduardo just rubs his thumb on the back of Mark's hand.

Minutes pass, and Mark's breathing grows steady, and Eduardo wonders if he's fallen back asleep. But then Mark stirs a little and mumbles, tiredly, softly: "I know you were still in Florida, but I wish you'd been the one who found me when I ran away from home."

Eduardo feels his chest constrict at the statement. "Me too," he whispers.

"Yeah. Anyway. Goodnight, Wardo," Mark says, with some degree of finality. He squirms closer, and Eduardo kisses his cheek with a lump in his throat.

"Goodnight."

***

When Eduardo wakes up the next morning, Mark is sitting up beside him in bed, typing away at the laptop.

"Good morning," he says as Eduardo rolls over. "We got our 9,000th member a few minutes ago."

"That's great," says Eduardo with a yawn.

"Yes, and we should reach 10,000 in a few hours." He glances at Eduardo, his eyes alight. "Wardo, it's only been a week," he says. "And we have members from almost every country in the world."

Eduardo smiles. "It's crazy," he says.

"It is," says Mark. He leans back against the headboard of the bed. "But shit, it's also so fucking cool."

***

They have french toast for breakfast. 

Mark sits at the dining table coding while Eduardo mixes together the eggs and milk and cinnamon, just like his mother taught him. He thinks of her hands, always so gentle, on his shoulders.

" _Perfeito_ , Edu," she would tell him as he dipped the bread in the eggy mixture, being sure to coat both sides. _Perfect_.

French toast was always her favorite.

Eduardo places a piece of dripping bread on the frying pan and closes his eyes, inhales shakily. It's been so long since he's talked to her.

He flips the french toast and wonders how his father broke the news to her that their son is a disappointment in yet another way. Wonders if she tried to stand up for him. Wonders if she cried. Wonders if she hates him now.

He sniffs.

"Wardo?"

"What?"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," says Eduardo. He moves the piece of french toast to a plate, and takes out a new slice of bread, and pushes his mother from his mind.

After all, he decides— it's too early in the morning to cry.

***

But he calls her after breakfast.

She doesn't pick up. 

He listens to her voice telling him to please leave a message, and then there's a beep, and:

"Hi Mom," he says in English, pacing around the living room, avoiding Mark's eye. "Um. It's Eduardo. I just wanted to call you and say hi. Because I made french toast today and thought of you. So uh. I guess— my father— he probably told you about... stuff. And you're probably upset about it. But I hope—" He's crying now. "I hope you still love me, Mãe. I miss you. Please call me back." He hangs up and glances at Mark, embarrassed.

Mark says nothing, just closes the laptop and pats the space beside him on the couch.

Eduardo sits down, still clutching his cell phone, and Mark scoots closer. "She didn't answer?"

"No."

"That sucks," says Mark.

Eduardo just rubs his eyes, and rests his head on Mark's shoulder, and they sit there in silence for a while.

"How many members?" Eduardo asks at last.

"10,031."

"That's so many," Eduardo murmurs, and tries to smile. It doesn't quite work.

Mark stares at him evenly. "Yeah," he says. And then: "She'll call you," he declares, solemnly. "I know she will." 

Eduardo nods, though he's not so sure, and he knows Mark isn't either.

But then Mark kisses him, and says again, "She will."

And Eduardo kisses back, and for a moment, he lets himself believe that it's true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! please leave a comment to tell me your thoughts!


	35. birthday cake

Eduardo has his Political Economy final exam that afternoon, and it goes well, considering he didn't study for it at all. His Microeconomics final is the next morning, so he spends the evening looking over his notes. Mark spends it coding, as always.

They go to bed early and wake up early and Eduardo leaves for his exam.

***

The exam gets out at noon, and Eduardo is pretty sure he aced it. There's a little voice inside him that says maybe his father will be pleased about that, and then another voice that reminds him he doesn't give a fuck about his father anymore.

He ignores both voices, and heads to supermarket by campus.

Because tomorrow is May 14th, Mark's twentieth birthday, and Eduardo needs to find a card.

***

He returns home with not just a card, but also a birthday banner, wrapping paper, candles, a bag of twizzlers, and a custom-made red velvet cake.

Thankfully Mark doesn't even look up from the computer when Eduardo enters the apartment carrying several bags and hastens into the kitchen.

"My final went well," he tells Mark casually, working to fit the cake box into the back of the refrigerator.

Mark hums in reply from the living room.

"I went grocery shopping so I'm just— putting some stuff away," Eduardo explains, hiding the birthday banner and package of candles in one of the kitchen cabinets.

"Okay," says Mark.

Eduardo heads to the the bedroom closet next, where he's keeping the gift he ordered online as soon as he learned that Mark's birthday was coming up. He pushes aside some of his hanging dress shirts, stashes the wrapping paper beside the gift, and closes the closet door.

Then he returns to the living room and flops down on the couch next to Mark, who continues to type away on the laptop, none the wiser.

***

Eduardo sets his alarm for 5 AM the next morning, unable to risk Mark waking up before him.

He turns it off immediately when it starts to beep, but Mark is a light sleeper.

"What's up?" he groans, rolling over.

Eduardo strokes at his tousled hair. "Nothing," he whispers. "Just go back to sleep."

And thankfully, Mark closes his eyes and obeys.

***

On the living room floor, Eduardo wraps his present for Mark in gold gift-wrap and sticks a bow on top. Then he tapes up the banner over the entrance to the kitchen and takes the cake out of the fridge. Carefully, he sticks twenty candles in a circle around its edge, so the words "Happy Birthday, Mark!" written in icing are still visible. He leaves the cake on the counter and puts the gift and the twizzlers behind the table, and then everything's ready.

***

He wakes Mark up with a kiss on the cheek.

"Hey," he says. "Happy birthday."

Mark blinks groggily, and Eduardo kisses him again. "Come on. Get up."

Mark puts the sheets over his head. "Wardo, I don't give a shit about my birthday," he mumbles.

"Well, I do," says Eduardo. He pulls the sheets away from Mark's face.

Mark stares at him, frowning. "How'd you even remember it?" he asks.

Eduardo scoffs. "You thought I'd forget your birthday? Mark, I've been planning today ever since I saw you fill out your date of birth on that stupid form."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, of course." Eduardo laughs, and gives Mark's arm a shake. " _Mark_ ," he says. "Let's go. We're having cake for breakfast."

Mark sits up and runs a hand blearily over his face. "You got me a cake," he says.

Eduardo smiles. "It's red velvet; I hope that's okay."

Mark gives him a strange look. "It's fine."

"Good," says Eduardo. "So get up."

And Mark does.

***

"I'd light the candles but I can't do fire," Eduardo tells Mark apologetically as he leads him to the kitchen. "But you can pretend?"

"Yeah," says Mark faintly, sitting down at the table. He seems sort of— confused, or something.

Eduardo sings "Happy Birthday" and sets the cake down in front of Mark, then takes a seat.

Mark looks over at him blankly, as if waiting for instructions.

"Go on, make a wish," Eduardo urges him. "Blow out the, uh— the nonexistent flames." He smiles.

Mark hesitates for a moment, looking skeptical, but then blows dutifully on the unlit candles. He glances at Eduardo when he's done.

Eduardo grins at him, only to realize he forgot to get plates and silverware. "Hold on," he says, jumping up from his chair and opening a cabinet.

At the table, Mark clears his throat. "I always wanted to do that when I was a kid, to be honest," he says quietly.

Eduardo takes down two plates and looks over at him. "Do what?"

"That," says Mark, with a little jerk of his head toward the cake.

"What— blow out the candles?" asks Eduardo. He closes the silverware drawer and sits back down at the table.

Mark nods. "Yeah, and make a wish or whatever." Then, apparently reading the confusion on Eduardo's face: "I've never had a birthday cake before," he clarifies with a shrug, disinterestedly.

Eduardo stares. "But you've—" He hesitates, and an unsettling thought occurs to him. "Mark, Jesus, haven't you ever celebrated your birthday?" he breathes. "Like, had a party?"

Mark lifts an eyebrow. "Birthday parties are for kids who have friends and money," he says. "Which I did not."

He doesn't sound upset or sad or self-pitying, just completely matter-of-fact, but Eduardo finds himself somewhat at a loss for words. "What about... presents?" he asks softly. "You got presents, right?"

"Uh." Mark shrugs again, and lowers his eyes. "For a while I lived in a group home, and it partnered with some organization that gave birthday presents to foster kids. So that year I got a Rubik's cube."

"The one you still have."

"Yeah."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve."

"Mark—" says Eduardo abortively.

Mark just looks at him.

Eduardo looks away.

He thinks of his own twelfth birthday. His family had just moved to Florida from Brazil, so he'd still been the new kid, but he'd invited a bunch of classmates over to his house. There'd been an elaborate chocolate cake, and pizza, and movies, and of course everyone had brought him presents. Expensive presents, probably, because he'd gone to a private prep school full of kids from wealthy families, but nothing really memorable; the best presents had been the ones his parents gave him: An engraved watch from his father, and a fancy home weather station, which let him make meteorological observations from his backyard.

Then he thinks of twelve-year-old Mark getting no party, no cake, nothing but a fucking Rubik's cube, his first birthday gift ever.

It makes him angry— angry at the world for being so unfair, angry at all the people who never bothered to make Mark's birthday special, and angry at himself, for getting spoiled all his fucking life, for being given so many presents he can't even remember them, and for never once being sufficiently grateful.

"Wardo," says Mark, prodding Eduardo's cheek. "If you fucking start crying about me not getting birthday presents, I swear to God—"

"I'm not crying."

"No, but you're about to. Which is stupid, because I didn't give you permission to cry on my birthday."

Eduardo laughs weakly at that, and tries to get a grip on himself.

"Now cut the cake," says Mark, pushing the knife a few centimeters toward Eduardo. "I'm hungry."

The words seem to hang in the air. 

Eduardo stares at him, remembering what Mark had told him last week, about the time when he said he was hungry and Sean was a sadistic asshole about it. About how he'd vowed to never tell anyone he's hungry ever again. "Mark, you've— never said that to me before," Eduardo whispers.

"I know," shrugs Mark. "But now I did. So cut the fucking cake."

He meets Eduardo's eye, and gazes at him fiercely for a moment. But then he smiles a little.

Eduardo can't help but smile back. "Okay," he says, and he picks up the knife, and cuts two slices of cake.

He gives the bigger one to Mark, of course.

"Happy birthday," he says gently.

"Thanks," says Mark.

And they eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more festivities to come! i think mark's birthday will be like three chapters in all lol. anyway, thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed! please leave a comment! :)


	36. wrapping paper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i also updated yesterday, in case you haven't seen that yet!

After they finish their cake, Eduardo retrieves Mark's birthday card and hands it to him with a flourish.

"I believe _this_ is for you," he says.

Mark rolls his eyes at the theatrics, but takes the envelope, opens it up, and pulls out the card. He blinks down at it.

"Is this Javascript?" he says.

"I guess," laughs Eduardo. "I just knew it looked like some kind of computer code. I figured you'd understand it." He pauses. "Does it make sense?"

"It does make sense," says Mark. "Though it's missing indentation. And I would have put a different condition than _while (true)…_ And they should have used straight quotation marks, not these typographer's ones," he explains, pointing at the quotes around the words "Happy Birthday!"

"I'll be sure to pass those oversights along to the boss," Eduardo jokes, nodding sagely.

"Good," mutters Mark, opening the card and beginning to read Eduardo's handwritten message. When he eventually looks back up, his expression is almost unbearably soft. "You're really sappy, Wardo, you know that?" he says.

Eduardo just smiles.

Mark glances back down at the card. "This is... probably the nicest shit anyone's ever said to me," he adds.

"Well, it's all true," says Eduardo.

Mark meets his eye and nods, his lips pressed together, like he's not sure how to respond.

Eduardo pats his arm. "I love you," he says. "And _now_... time for presents, okay?" He gives Mark the twizzlers first. "Your favorite," he proclaims with faux solemnity.

Mark smiles and pulls open the bag, but before he can take out a twizzler, Eduardo is placing the second present on the table in front of him. Mark stares down at the gift-wrapped box for a moment, then glances up at Eduardo uncertainly.

"It's for you," Eduardo assures him. "Open it up."

Wordlessly, Mark peels off the tape with his fingernail, then carefully removes the golden wrapping paper, revealing the cardboard shipping box underneath. Eduardo passes him some scissors and Mark cuts it open, lifts the flaps, and—

"Shit," he says quietly. "You got me a laptop?"

"Yeah, now you don't have to borrow mine all the time," says Eduardo, grinning.

Mark frowns at that.

"Not that I minded!" Eduardo tells him quickly. "I didn't, not at all. I never even use it. I just— I thought you'd like having your own."

"Oh," says Mark, nodding. He slides the lid off the laptop box and sets it aside, gazes down at the glossy new computer. "How much did it cost?" he asks.

Eduardo laughs a little. "Mark," he says. "You can't just ask how much a gift cost; that's not— It's a birthday present."

"I can't pay you back for it," Mark murmurs, tracing the edge of the laptop with his finger.

"You don't—" Eduardo starts, a bit exasperated, then breaks off. Sighs. Takes Mark's hand. "Yes you can," he says, deciding on a different tactic. "You can pay me back by using it to make cool stuff that'll change the world, okay? Which I'm positive you will."

And Mark seems to accept that. He looks up from the laptop and gives a hesitant nod. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Eduardo says firmly. "Happy birthday, Mark."

And they kiss.

***

"So what do you want to do?" Eduardo asks.

It's been a few hours, and they're seated on the couch, each on their own laptop.

"Do?"

"Yeah. For your birthday," says Eduardo. "Like, we should go somewhere."

"Where?" Mark asks with a frown.

Eduardo laughs. "I don't know; you're the one we're celebrating— you should decide."

"I don't care, you pick," says Mark, typing away at his new laptop.

Eduardo is about to protest, but then he stops, and reminds himself that sometimes Mark doesn't seem comfortable making choices, as though it's something he's not used to. Which he probably isn't. And that's fine. Eduardo can come up with some options. "Okay," he says slowly. He thinks for a moment. "Well, we could go to a play. Or a concert. Or a museum; I hear the Boston Museum of Fine Arts is really good— Do you like art museums?"

Mark just shrugs.

"I know there's also a science museum in Boston. And Cambridge has museums too; have you seen the Harvard natural history museum?"

"No," Mark says.

And Eduardo can take a hint. "Do you not like museums?" he asks with a smile.

"Don't know; never been to one," says Mark tersely, his eyes fixed on the computer screen.

"Wait," Eduardo says. He frowns, unsure he understood. "You've never been to a _museum_?"

Mark shoots him a look. "No, I haven't. And will you stop doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Being surprised by my sad, underprivileged life." 

Eduardo opens his mouth to say— something, he's not sure what, but Mark cuts him off.

"Like, look," he says, a slight edge to his voice, "I was raised in a shitty area, I went to shitty low-income schools, my shitty mom and shitty foster parents never gave a fuck about me. So obviously I didn't do all this fucking rich people shit, like birthdays and museums and whatever. It's not really that shocking, is it?"

Eduardo bites his lip and nods slowly. "No, you're right," he says. "I'm sorry."

"For what, the fact that my childhood sucked?" asks Mark, blasé, turning his attention back to the laptop screen.

"No, for..." Eduardo sighs. "I mean, yeah, but... also for— I mean, you're right, I should've..." _Should've assumed you'd never had the opportunity to partake in basic enriching experiences like going to museums?_ He's not sure how to phrase that. He watches Mark's face, but it remains impassive. "Mark?" he prompts. "You okay?"

Mark looks over at him, but doesn't answer. "Are there any museums that have stuff from classical antiquity?" he asks instead, casual.

"Uh— Probably," says Eduardo, blinking at the sudden change in tone. "Probably the fine arts one?"

"I like that stuff," Mark says. "I've read about it a lot."

"Like ancient Greek and Roman stuff, right?"

Mark nods, and Eduardo does a quick Google search. "Yeah, it says here that the Boston Museum of Fine Arts has 'one of the world's premiere encyclopedic collections of antiquities, featuring more than 85,000 works of art from Egypt, Nubia, the Near East, Greece, Italy, Cyprus, and Anatolia.'" He looks up.

Mark smiles. "Cool," he says. "Let's go there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!!! more to come soon. as for what eduardo wrote in the card, i'll leave it up to your imagination, but just imagine him being super mushy and waxing rhapsodic about how amazing mark is for like 500 words, lol.


End file.
